«.!«  w.1*  tc  r  >( 


University  of  California. 


FROM    THE    LIBRARY   OF 


DR.    FRANCIS     LIEBER, 

Professor  of  History  and  Law  in  Columbia  College,  New  York. 


THK   GIFT   OP 

MICHAEL     REESE, 

Of  San  Francisco. 


SERMONS 


BY     THE 


REV.   JOHN  CAIRD,   M.A. 

M 

MINISTER  OP  THE  PARK  CHURCH,  GLASGOW, 

AUTHOB  OF    "RELIGION    IN   COMMON  LIFE,"— A   8ERMON   PHEACHED   HEFOBE 
THE   QUEEN. 


NEW   YOBK: 
ROBERT    CARTER    &    BROTHERS, 

630     BROADWAY. 
1858. 


CONTENTS. 


SERMON    1. 

PAGE 

THE  SELF-EVIDENCING  NATURE  OP  DIVINE  TRUTH.       1 
''By  manifestation  of  the  truth  commending  ourselves  to  every 
man's  conscience  in  the  sight  of  God." — 2  CORINTHIANS, 
iv.  2. 

SERMON    II. 
SELF-IGNORANCE 48 

""Who  can  understand  his  errors?     Cleanse  thou  me  from 
secret  faults." — PSALM  xix.  12. 


SERMON    III. 

SPIRITUAL  INFLUENCE v 78 

"  Marvel  not  that  I  said  unto  thee,  Ye  must  be  born  again. 
The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and  thou  hearest  the 
sound  thereof,  but  canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh,  and 
whither  it  goeth :  so  is  every  one  that  is  born  of  the 
spirit." — JOHN  iii.  7,  8. 

SERMON    IV. 

PART  FIRST. 
THE  INVISIBLE  GOD 121 

"  No  man  hath  seen  God  at  any  time ;  the  only  begotten  Son, 
which  is  in  the  bosom  of  the  Father,  He  hath  declared 
Him." — JOHN,  i  18. 


IV  CONTENTS. 

SERMON    IV. 

PART  SECOND. 

PAGE 

THE  MANIFESTATION  OF  THE  INVISIBLE  GOD 146 

"  No  man  hath  seen  God  at  any  time ;  the  only  begotten  Son, 
which  is  in  the  bosom  of  the  Father,  He  hath  declared 
Him." — JOHN,  i.  18. 

SERMON    V. 

THE  SOLITARINESS  OF  CHRIST'S  SUFFERINGS 1G2 

"I  have  trodden  the  wine-press  alone." — ISAIAH,  Ixiii.  3. 

SERMON    VI. 

PARTICIPATION  IN  THE  SUFFERINGS  OF  CHRIST. ...  202 
"  Rejoice  inasmuch  as  ye  are  partakers  of  the  sufferings  of 
Christ."—!  PETER,  iv.  13. 

SERMON    VII. 

SPIRITUAL  REST 233 

"  Return  unto  thy  rest,  0  my  soul." — PSALM,  cxvi.  7. 

SERMON    VIII. 

SPIRITUAL  PROSPERITY 265 

"  Beloved,  I  wish  above  all  things  that  thou  mayest  prosper 
and  be  in  health,  even  as  thy  soul  prosporeth." — 3  JOHN,  2. 


SERMON    IX. 

THE  CHRISTIAN'S  HERITAGE 300 

"All  things  are  yours;  whether  Paul,  or  Apollos,  or  Cephas, 
or  the  world,  or  life,  or  death,  or  things  present,  or  things 
to  come ;  all  are  yours  ;  and  ye  are  Christ's ;  and  Christ 
is  God's." — 1  CORINTHIANS,  iii.  21,  22,  23. 


CONTENTS.  V 

SERMON    X. 

PAGE 

THE  SIMPLICITY  OF  CHRISTIAN  RITUAL 330 

"  Then  verily  the  first  covenant  had  also  ordinances  of  divine 
service." — HEBREWS,  ix.  1. 

SERMON    XI. 

THE  COMPARATIVE  INFLUENCE  OF  CHARACTER  AND 

DOCTRINE 366 

"  Take  heed  unto  thyself,  and  unto  the  doctrine  ;  continue  hi 
them :  for,  in  doing  this,  thou  shalt  both  save  thyself  and 
them  that  hear  thec." — 1  TIMOTHY,  iv.  16. 


Clje  Self-dMeiuing  ftature  of  $iiriue 


"  By  manifestation  of  the  truth  commending  ourselves  to  every 
man's  conscience  in  the  sight  of  God."  —  2  CORINTHIANS,  iv.  2. 

THE  truth  we  receive  from  the 
lips  of  another  may  either  derive  its 
authority  from  the  teacher,  or  reflect  on  him  the 
authority  it  contains.  As  the  receiver  of  money 
may  argue,  either  that  the  money  is  good  be- 
cause it  is  an  honest  man  who  pays  it,  or  that 
the  man  is  honest  because  he  pays  good  money  ; 
so  in  the  communication  and  reception  of  truth, 
it  may  be  a  valid  inference,  either  that  the  doc- 
trine is  true  because  it  is  a  trustworthy  man  who 
teaches  it,  or  that  the  man  who  teaches  is  vera- 
cious or  trustworthy  because  his  doctrine  is  true. 
It  is  the  latter  mode  of  inference  which  is  em- 
ployed in  the  text.  The  apostle  appeals  to  the 
doctrine  he  taught  as  in  itself  a  sufficient  at- 
testation of  his  character  and  credibility.  The 

Caird. 


2  SELF-EVIDENCING     NATURE 

message  he  had  spoken  was  so  completely  in 
accordance  with  reason  and  conscience — it  so  re- 
flected the  profoundest  convictions  of  the  human 
intellect,  and  responded  to  the  deepest  longings 
of  the  human  heart,  that  he  needed  no  other 
credentials  in  proclaiming  it :  it  became  at  once 
its  own  witness  and  his.  The  fragrance  of  the 
heavenly  deposit  clung  to  the  garments  of  him  to 
whom  it  was  intrusted,  and  rendered  him  "  a 
sweet  savor  of  life  unto  them"  who  received  it. 
The  lamp  of  truth  was  not  only  seen  by  its  own 
light,  but  shed  back  its  brightness  on  the  face 
of  him  who  bore  it.  By  the  simple  "  manifesta- 
tion of  the  truth,  he  commended  himself  to  every 
man's  conscience  in  the  sight  of  God." 

That  there  is  an  order  of  truth,  such  as  that 
to  which  the  apostle  refers,  every  thoughtful 
mind  must  be  aware.  As  there  are  some  truths 
which  we  reach  inferentially,  by  a  process, 
longer  or  shorter,  of  argument,  deduction,  dem- 
onstration ;  so  there  are  other  truths  which  are 
perceived  immediately  and  intuitively  whenever 
the  mind  is  brought  into  contact  with  them. 
All  science  is  based  on  truths  which  constitute 


O  F     DIVINE     TR  UTH.  3 

their  own  evidence.  At  the  root  of  all  knowl- 
edge there  are  first  principles  which  are  inde- 
pendent of  proof,  which  to  state  is  to  prove  to 
every  mind  that  apprehends  them.  Follow  the 
links  in  every  chain  of  reasoning  far  enough 
back,  and  you  will  come  to  a  first  reason  which 
hangs  on  no  other,  but  is  self-existent  and  self- 
sufficient.  Examine  the  contents  of  your  knowl- 
edge, and  sooner  or  later  you  will  penetrate  to 
the  primary  strata,  which,  unsupported,  support 
all  besides.  Of  innumerable  objects  of  thought 
you  may  be  able  to  say  why  you  conceive  them 
to  be  true,  or  right,  or  beautiful ;  but  there  are 
some  with  respect  to  which  you  can  give  no 
such  reason,  of  which  you  can  only  say,  I  believe 
them  to  be  true,  or  good,  or  fair,  because  I  be- 
lieve them  to  be  true,  or  good,  or  fair ;  my  mind 
is  so  constituted  that  I  can  not  otherwise  regard 
them ;  they  commend  themselves  at  once  to  my 
consciousness  in  the  sight  of  God. 

Now  to  this  class  belong  many  of  the  truths 
of  revelation.  Of  much  that  is  contained  in 
Scripture  the  mind  of  man  is  so  constituted,  as, 
immediately  and  intuitively,  when  brought  face 


4  SELF-EVIDENCING     NATUKE 

to  face  with  it,  to  recognise  the  truthfulness  or 
reality.  As  it  needs  no  outward  attestation  to 
prove  to  the  tasteful  eye  the  beauty  of  fair 
scenes,  as  sweet  sounds  need  no  authentication 
of  their  harmony  to  the  sensitive  ear ;  so,  be- 
tween the  spirit  of  man,  and  that  infinite  world 
of  moral  beauty  and  harmony  which  revelation 
discloses,  there  is  a  correspondence  so  deep  and 
real  that  the  inner  eye  and  ear,  if  undiseased, 
discern  at  once  in  divine  things  their  own  best 
witness  and  authority.  In  the  original  structure 
of  the  soul,  there  is  an  unwritten  revelation 
which  accords  with  the  external  revelation  of 
Scripture.  Within  the  depths  of  the  heart  there 
is  a  silent  oracle,  which  needs  only  to  be  rightly 
questioned  to  elicit  from  it  a  response  in  accord- 
ance with  that  voice  which  issues  from  the  lively 
oracles  of  God.  In  one  word,  the  appeal  of 
Scripture  to  the  unbiassed  conscience  or  con- 
sciousness of  man  is,  in  great  part,  direct,  imme- 
diate, irresistible.  It  is  this  doctrine  which  I 
now  propose  to  explain  and  illustrate.  As,  how- 
ever, it  is  a  doctrine  which,  if  unguardedly  stated, 
is  extremely  liable  to  misconstruction,  I  shall  en- 


OF     DIVINE     TRUTH.  5 

deavor  to  show,  in  the  first  place,  what  is  not, 
before  going  on,  secondly,  to  explain  what  is,  its 
true  import. 

I.  By  the  statement  that  the  truths  of  revela- 
tion commend  themselves  to  the  conscience  or 
consciousness  of  man,  it  is  not  implied,  that  man,, 
l/j  the  unaided  exercise  of  his  consciousness,  could 
have  discovered  them.  In  claiming  for  man's 
spirit  a  power  of  recognising  and  responding  to 
the  truth  of  God,  we  do  not  arrogate  for  it  a 
capacity,  of  itself,  to  originate  that  truth. 

If  there  be  an  internal  revelation  already  im- 
printed on  the  human  spirit,  what  need,  it  might 
be  asked,  for  any  other  ?  If  the  truths  of  Scrip- 
ture be  so  congenial  to  man's  mind,  in  such 
exact  correspondence  with  the  principles  of 
reason  and  conscience,  might  not  reason  and 
conscience  work  out  those  truths  independently 
of  any  external  aid  ?  What  necessity  for  an 
outward  authority  to  announce  to  me  that  which, 
by  the  fundamental  laws  of  my  being,  I  can  not 
help  believing  ?  If  the  doctrines  of  religion  ac- 
cord with  man's  conscience  as  the  principles  of 


6  SELF-EVIDENCING     NATUEE 

arithmetic  or  geometry  accord  with  man's  reason, 
what  need  for  an  oracle  to  reveal  the  former  any 
more  than  the  latter  ?  In  asserting  that  divine 
revelation  is  self-evidencing,  do  we  not  virtually 
assert  that  it  is  uncalled-for  or  superfluous  ? 

Now,  to  all  such  questions  the  obvious  an- 
swer is,  that  the  power  to  recognise  truth,  when 
presented  to  us,  does  not  by  any  means  imply 
the  power  to  find  out  or  originate  the  same  truth. 
The  range  of  intellect  which  enables  a  man  to 
perceive  and  appreciate  thought,  falls  far  short 
of  that  which  is  necessary  to  excogitate  or  cre- 
ate thought.  We  may  apprehend  what  we  could 
not  invent.  To  discover,  for  instance,  some  great 
law  of  nature,  to  evolve  some  grand  principle  of 
science,  implies  in  the  discoverer  the  possession 
of  mental  powers  of  the  very  rarest  order  ;  but 
when  that  law  or  principle  has  once  been  pointed 
out,  multitudes  who  could  never  have  discovered 
it  for  themselves  may  be  quite  able  to  verify  it. 
The  law  of  gravitation  was  unknown  to  man  for 
ages,  till  one  great  mind  arose,  of  grasp  sufficient 
to  penetrate  into  the  arcana  of  nature,  and  bring 
to  light  this  great  secret  of  her  order ;  but,  now 


OF     DIVINE    TR  UTH.  7 

that  the  discovery  has  been  achieved,  all  men  of 
ordinary  intellectual  capacity  can  apprehend  its 
evidence,  and  satisfy  themselves  of  its  truth. 
Viewed  merely  as  what  is  knowable — involved 
in  the  laws  of  human  thought — all  Euclid  is  in 
the  mind  of  a  savage ;  but  whilst  minds  of  the 
rudest  cast  may  easily  be  educated  into  the  capa- 
city to  verify  Euclid,  how  very  few  of  the  whole 
human  race  could  have  struck  out  his  discover- 
ies for  themselves  !  All  abstract  science  or 
philosophy,  in  fact,  is  but  the  evolving  of  the 
latent  contents  of  our  consciousness — the  bring- 
ing to  light  by  observation,  reflection,  analysis, 
of  those  truths  which  implicitly  are  possessed 
by  all ;  but  though,  virtually,  these  truths  would 
never  become  really  ours,  they  would  never  be 
known  at  all  by  common  thinkers,  but  for  the 
aid  which  the  discoveries  of  high  and  philosophic 
minds  afford  them.  So,  again,  to  what  is  it 
that  the  great  poet  owes  the  power  to  charm  and 
thrill  the  minds  of  men — what  is  the  secret  of 
the  spell  which  his  genius  exerts  over  multi- 
tudes, but  this,  that  he  gives  expression  to  their 
own  indistinct  and  unuttered  thoughts  and  feel- 


8  SELF-EVIDENCING     NATUEE 

ings — to  thoughts  and  feelings  which,  though 
none  but  men  of  rarest  genius  could  articulate 
them,  the  common  heart  and  soul  of  humanity 
recognises  as  its  own  ?  Millions  can  perceive 
and  appreciate  the  power,  the  reality,  the  true- 
ness  to  nature,  of  the  great  writer's  productions, 
who  could  never  themselves  have  produced 
them.  There  are  multitudes  of  "mute  inglori- 
ous Miltons,"  though  there  never  lived  but  one 
who  could  write  the  "Paradise  Lost."  Dim, 
indistinct,  nebulous,  the  thoughts  of  beauty  and 
truth  lurk  in  many  a  mind,  but  it  is  only  the 
creative  voice  of  genius  from  without  that  con- 
denses and  shapes  them  into  visible  beauty — 
gives  to  them  local  habitation  and  name — and  so, 
by  interpreting  ourselves  to  ourselves,  commends 
its  utterances  to  every  man's  consciousness  in 
the  sight  of  God. 

Now,  to  apply  this  principle  to  the  case  be- 
fore us  : — It  is  obvious  that  the  appeal  of  Scrip- 
ture to  man's  reason  and  conscience  does  not  by 
any  means  imply  in  man's 'reason  and  conscience 
a  capacity  to  discover  divine  truth  by  their  own 
unaided  exercise.  Here,  too,  is  a  case  in  which 


OF     DIVINE     TRUTH.  9 

it  is  possible  for  the  human  mind  to  recognise 
and  identify  that  which,  of  itself,  it  could  not 
have  found  out.  There  may  he,  and  we  shall  in 
the  sequel  attempt  to  show  that  there  are,  in  the 
soul,  latent  beliefs,  dim  inarticulate  yearnings, 
unexplained  hopes  and  aspirations,  which  are  to 
itself  unrealised  and  unintelligible,  till  the  out- 
ward shining  of  divine  truth  pours  light  and 
meaning  upon  them.  There  may  be,  and  we 
maintain  that  there  are,  inscribed  on  the  mind 
and  conscience  of  man,  the  characters  of  an  un- 
known language,  to  which  revelation  alone  sup- 
plies the  key,  and  which,  read  by  its  aid,  become 
the  truest  verification  of  that  which  interprets 
them.  Bring  "  one  that  believeth  not,  or  one 
unlearned,"  face  to  face  with  him  who  speaks 
the  Word  of  inspiration,  and,  as  he  listens,  there 
will  be  roused  within  him  a  something  that 
claims  in  that  word  a  strange  affinity  Avith  itself; 
"  he  will  be  convinced  of  all,  he  will  be  judged 
of  all ;  the  secrets  of  his  heart  will  be  made 
manifest,  and  so  he  will  worship  God  and  report 
that  God  is  here  of  a  truth."  In  that  world  of 
eternal  and  invisible  realities  to  which,  as  spir- 


10  SELF-EVIDENCING    NATUEE 

itual  beings,  we  belong,  there  are  heights  too 
vast  for  human  soaring,  mysteries  too  profound 
for  fallen  humanity,  of  itself,  to  penetrate.  But 
though  by  no  unaided  "searching"  could  we 
"  find  out  God ;"  though,  again,  the  conception 
of  a  pure  and  holy  moral  law,  or  yet  again,  the 
vision  of  a  glorious  immortality,  be  unattainable 
by  any  spontaneous  effort  of  human  reason,  yet 
there  is  wrought  into  the  very  structure  of  man's 
nature  so  much  of  a  divine  element,  there  is  a 
moral  standard  so  ineffaceably  inscribed  on  the 
conscience,  there  slumbers  in  the  universal 
heart  a  desire  and  yearning  after  immortality 
so  deep  and  strong,  that  that  Bible,  which  con- 
tains in  it  the  revelation  of  God,  and  Holiness, 
and  Heaven,  finds  in  the  awakened  soul  an  in- 
stant response  and  authentication  of  its  teach- 
ings. Divine  truth,  therefore,  undiscoverable 
by  human  reason,  is  yet  so  in  harmony  with  it ; 
inaccessible  to  the  human  mind,  yet  so  accords 
with  all  its  half-acknowledged  principles  and 
aspirations ;  inexpressible  by  human  lip,  yet  so 
expresses  for  man  things  which  he  thought  but 
could  not  utter  for  himself— that  it  "  commends 


OF     DIVINE     TRUTH.  11 

itself  to  every  man's  consciousness  in  the  sight 
of  God." 

2.  Again,  in  averring  that  the  truths  of  reve- 
lation commend  themselves  to  the  consciousness 
of  man,  not  only  do  we  not  ascribe  to  the  con- 
sciousness a  power  to  discover  those  truths,  but 
we  do  not  even  imply  that  the  consciousness  in  its 
unrenewed  and  imperfect  state  is  qualified  fully  to 
recognise  and  verify  them  when  discovered  to  it. 

It  might  be  admitted  that  the  mind  of  man, 
in  its  unimpaired  and  perfect  state,  is  so  in  har- 
mony with  the  mind  of  God  as  at  once  to  echo 
and  respond  to  the  utterance  of  that  mind  in  his 
revealed  Word.  But  the  mind  of  man  is  not 
perfect  and  unimpaired.  The  moral  reason  has 
become  dimmed  and  distorted,  so  that,  instead 
of  affording  a  perfect,  unerring  reflection,  it 
breaks  and  refracts  the  light  of  truth  into  a 
thousand  unreal  forms  and  phantasms.  It  might 
be  possible  for  the  inner  eye  and  ear,  if  endoAved 
with  all  the  soundness  and  delicate  suscepti- 
bility of  health,  at  once  to  recognise  the  beauty 
and  harmony  of  divine  things  ;  but  the  vision 
of  the  SQU!  is  blurred,  the  spiritual  ear  has  lost 


12  SELF-EVIDENCING    NATURE 

its  sensitiveness  to  heaven's  music.  How  then 
any  longer  can  the  soul  be  regarded  as  the  cri- 
terion of  truth — how  can  it  be  asserted  that  the 
truth  commends  itself  to  every  man's  conscious- 
ness ?  Is  not  such  a  statement  at  variance  with 
that  other  doctrine  of  Scripture,  that  "  the  nat- 
ural man  receiveth  not  the  things  of  the  Spirit 
of  God,  neither  can  he  know  them,  because  they 
are  spiritually  discerned  ?"  And  if,  in  answer 
to  this,  it  be  said  that  there  is  a  restorative 
operation  of  the  Spirit  of  God  on  the  minds  of 
those  who  receive  the  truth,  still  it  may  be  re- 
joined, that  it  is  by  the  truth,  apprehended  and 
believed,  that  the  Holy  Spirit  works  in  restoring 
or  renewing  the  mind,  and  that  therefore  the 
apprehension  or  recognition  of  the  truth  must 
be,  in  some  sort,  prior  to  the  restoration  of  the 
mind  to  purity  and  goodness.  How  then,  again 
may  it  be  asked,  can  the  truth  be  said  to  com- 
mend itself  to  an  impaired,  imperfect  conscience  ? 
How  can  light  be  perceived  by  blind  eyes,  har- 
mony by  dull  or  deaf  ears  ? 

The  solution  of  this  difficulty  will  perhaps  be 
found  in   the    consideration   that   divine  truth 


OF    DIVINE    TRUTH.  18 

exerts  on  the  mind  of  man  at  once  a  restorative 
and  a  self-manifesting  power.  It  creates  in  the 
mind  the  capacity  by  which  it  is  discerned.  As 
light  opens  the  close-shut  flower-bud  to  receive 
light,  or  as  the  sunbeam,  playing  on  a  sleeper's 
eyes,  by  its  gentle  irritation  opens  them  to  see 
its  own  brightness  ;  so  the  truth  of  God,  shining 
on  the  soul,  quickens  and  stirs  into  activity  the 
faculty  by  which  that  very  truth  is  perceived. 
It  matters  little  which  of  the  two  operations,  in 
logical  or  in  natural  order,  be  first;  practically 
they  may  be  regarded  as  simultaneous.  The  per- 
ception rouses  the  faculty,  and  yet  the  faculty  is 
implied  in  the  perception.  The  truth  awakens 
the  mind,  and  yet  the  mind  must  be  in  activity 
ere  the  truth  can  reach  it.  And  the  same  two- 
fold process  is  carried  on  in  the  whole  subse- 
quent progress  of  the  soul.  Light  and  the 
Organ  of  Vision,  Knowledge  and  the  Under- 
standing, Divine  Truth  and  the  Spiritual  Rea- 
son, grow  and  expand  together.  They  act  and 
react.  They  are  reciprocally  helpful.  They 
are,  each  by  turn,  cause  and  effect.  It  is  in  this 
case  as  in  secular  studies  and  contemplations, 


14  SELF-EVIDENCING    NATUKE 

each  advance  in  knowledge  disciplines  the  know- 
ing faculty,  and  the  discipline  of  the  faculty 
renders  it  capable  of  still  further  advances  in 
knowledge.  With  each  new  problem  mastered, 
each  difficult  step  in  science  or  philosophy  over- 
come, the  powers  of  observation,  comparison, 
analysis,  are  invigorated,  the  mental  habits  of 
attention  and  application  are  strengthened,  and 
thus  a  wider  range  of  knowledge,  a  larger, 
clearer,  more  comprehensive  view  of  truth,  be- 
comes possible  to  the  mind.  So,  again,  the  ob- 
servation of  Nature  both  presupposes  and  culti- 
vates the  sense  of  beauty.  The  sight  of  her 
material  glory  rouses  the  dormant  imagination 
into  action ;  but  it  needs  long  familiarity  with 
her  presence,  long  and  reverent  study  and  con- 
templation of  her  manifold  forms  and  aspects, 
till  her  full  splendor  breaks  upon  the  chastened 
eye.  In  the  very  act  of  contemplation  the  con- 
templative powers  are  expanded,  the  percep- 
tions quickened,  the  elements  of  feeling  and  of 
thought  purified  and  enriched  ;  and  so  the  whole 
mind  and  spirit  of  the  observer  of  Nature  be- 
comes qualified  for  the  more  perfect  apprehen- 


OP    DIVINE    TRUTH.  15 

sion   of  her   loveliness.      In   like   manner  the 
powers    of  spiritual   discernment,  incapable  at 
first  of  recognising  the  full  glory  and  beauty  of 
divine  truth,  become,  by  daily  converse  with  it, 
more  and  more  qualified  to  know  it.     In  each 
act  of  earnest  study  of  God's  word  a  reflex  pro- 
cess of  refinement  is  going  on ;  something  of  the 
mind's  dulness   and  insensibility  is  thrown  off, 
and  some  new  touch  of  spiritual  acuteness  com- 
municated.    The  spiritual  appetite,  growing  by 
what  it  feeds  upon,  becomes  capable  of  assimila- 
ting  more  and   more   of  its  divine  nutriment. 
The  inner  eye  and  ear  acquire  by  exercise  a 
more  and  more  delicate  acuteness  and  accuracy 
of  perception ;  until  at  last,  as  the  result  of  its 
long  converse  with  truth,  the  soul  learns  to  re- 
cognise it  with  an  almost  instinctive   sureness, 
and   with   a   sensitiveness    on  which   not   the 
slightest  shade  of  its  beauty,  not  the  most  evan- 
escent tone  of  its  heavenly  harmony,  is  lost. 
Thus,  impaired  and  defective  though  our  nature 
be,  inasmuch  as  the  truth  restores  and  refines 
the   very   powers    by   which  it  is   recognised, 
it  may  still  be  maintained  that  it  "  commends 


16  SELF-EVIDENCING    NATURE 

itself   to    our    consciousness   in   the   sight   of 
God." 

II.  Such,  then,  being  some  of  the  limitations 
under  which  the  doctrine  of  the  text  is  to  be 
understood,  I  now  proceed  more  directly  to  ex- 
plain its  true  import.  In  what  way  may  we 
conceive  of  divine  truth  as  commending  itself  to 
the  consciousness  of  man  ?  It  does  so,  I  answer, 
first,  by  revealing  to  man  the  Lost  Ideal  of  Ms 
Nature. 

The  gospel  is,  in  one  view  of  it,  the  disclosure 
to  man  of  the  true  ideal  of  humanity,  the  dis- 
covery of  the  perfect  type  of  our  being,  lost  by 
sin,  and  yet  recoverable  in  Christ.  And  whilst 
man,  fallen  and  degraded  as  his  nature  has  be- 
come, could  never  have  found  out  that  ideal  for 
himself,  yet,  when  it  is  presented  to  him  in 
Scripture,  there  is  that  within  him  which  is  ca- 
pable of  recognising  it  as  his  own.  For  the  re- 
cognition of  a  lost  ideal  is  a  mental  act,  the  pos- 
sibility of  which  to  a  moral  and  spiritual  being, 
it  is  not  difficult  to  conceive.  The  degenerate 
plant  has  no  consciousness  of  its  own  degrada- 


OF    DIVINE    TRUTH.  17 

tion,  nor  could  it,  when  reduced  to  the  character 
of  a  weed  or  a  wild-flower,  recognise  in  the  fair 
and  delicate  garden-plant  the  type  of  its  former 
self.  The  tamed  and  domesticated  animal, 
stunted  in  size,  and  subjugated  in  spirit,  could 
not  feel  any  sense  of  humiliation  when  con- 
fronted with  its  wild  brother  of  the  desert,  fierce, 
strong,  and  free,  as  if  discerning  in  that  spec- 
tacle the  noble  type  from  which  itself  had  fallen. 
But  it  is  different  with  a  conscious,  moral  being. 
Reduce  such  an  one  ever  so  low,  yet  you  cannot 
obliterate  in  his  inner  nature  the  consciousness 
of  falling  beneath  himself ;  you  cannot  blot  out 
from  his  mind  the  latent  reminiscence  of  a  nobler 
and  better  self  which  he  might  have  been,  and 
which  to  have  lost  is  guilt  and  wretchedness. 
So  that,  should  there  ever  be  brought  before  a 
fallen  moral  nature,  in  outward  form  and  reality, 
a  Being  the  noble  realisation  of  its  own  lost 
spiritual  excellence — the  full,  perfect,  beautiful 
reproduction  in  actual  existence  of  that  splendor 
of  moral  loveliness  which  once  was  its  own — 
it  is  conceivable  that  the  latent  instincts  of  the 
soul  would  be  roused  to  recognise  and  identify 


18  SELF-EVIDENCING    NATURE 

therein  its  lost  original.  Confront  the  fallen  moral 
intelligence  with  its  own  perfect  type,  and  in  the 
instinctive  shame  and  humiliation  that  would 
arise  within  it,  as  at  the  spectacle  of  a  glory  it 
had  lost,  a  native  nobleness  from  which  it  had 
degenerated,  there  would  be  elicited  an  involun- 
tary recognition  of  the  truthfulness  of  the  por- 
traiture. 

Now,  such  is  the  response  which  the  spirit  of 
man,  in  the  hour  of  contrition,  renders  to  the 
perfect  type  of  moral  excellence  which  the  gos- 
pel brings  before  it.  For  it  is  to  be  considered 
that  the  sorrow  and  self-abasement  which  the 
"  manifestation  of  the  truth"  calls  forth  in  the 
awakened  and  penitent  heart,  derive  their  pecu- 
liar poignancy  from  the  fact,  that  it  is  a  sorrow 
not  so  much  of  discovery  as  of  reminiscence. 
In  the  contemplation  of  God's  holy  law,  and 
especially  of  that  perfect  reflection  of  it  which 
is  presented  in  the  person  and  life  of  Jesus, 
the  attitude  of  the  penitent  mind  is  that,  not 
simply  of  observation,  but  of  painful  and  humilia- 
ting recollection.  The  mental  process  that  takes 
place  may  be  described  as  analogous  to  one 


OF     DIVINE     TRUTH.  19 

with  which  we  are  all  familiar — that  in  which 
the  mind  goes  in  search  of  some  word,  or  name, 
or  thought,  which  we  cannot  at  once  recall,  yet 
of  which  we  have  the  certainty  that  once  we 
knew  it ;  so  that,  when  at  last,  after  laborious 
groping,  it  flashes  on  the  memory,  we  recognise 
it  not  as  a  new  word  or  thought;  but  as  one,  the 
familiar  form  and  aspect  of  which  at  once  com- 
mend it  to  our  consciousness.  Or  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus  by  the  awak- 
ened soul,  may  be  represented  as  still  more 
closely  parallel  to  the  feeling  of  one  who  re- 
visits, in  reverse  of  fortune,  and  after  long  years 
of  absence,  a  spot  with  which,  in  other  and  hap- 
pier days,  he  was  familiar.  It  is  conceivable 
that  such  an  one  might  move  for  a  while  amidst 
old  scenes  and  objects,  unconscious  of  any  past 
and  personal  connection  with  them ;  until  at  last 
something  occurs  to  touch  the  spring  of  associa- 
tion, when  instantly,  with  a  rush  of  recollection, 
old  sights,  impressions,  incidents,  come  thick 
and  crowding  on  the  spirit,  and  the  outward 
scene  becomes  clothed  with  a  new  vividness, 
and  is  perceived  with  a  new  sense  of  identity. 


20  SELF-EVIDENCING    NATURE 

The  contemplation  is  no  longer  sight  but  recog- 
nition ;  and  as  every  object  which  the  eye  sur- 
veys recalls  to  the  saddened  spectator  a  bright 
and  better  past, — brings  up,  in  contrast  with 
what  he  now  is,  the  joyous,  healthy,  happy 
being  which  once  he  was, — it  is  a  keener  and 
deeper  anguish  far,  a  sorrow  sharpened  by  the 
whet  of  reminiscence,  which  now  pierces  his 
soul. 

Now,  analogous  to  this  is  the  process  which  is 
involved  in  the  manifestation  of  the  truth  to  the 
awakened  mind.  In  the  Scripture  ideal  of  holi- 
ness, and  in  that  sublime  embodiment  of  it  which 
is  presented  in  the  character  and  history  of  Je- 
sus Christ,  the  soul,  when  brought  face  to  face 
with  it,  recognises  a  something  which  conies 
home  to  its  inner  consciousness  with  all  the 
painful  reality  of  a  lost  and  abandoned  good. 
If  the  life  of  Christ  were  an  ideal  of  excellence 
altogether  foreign  to  us,  the  shame  of  the  con- 
victed conscience  would  lose  half  its  bitterness. 
Did  we  perceive  in  it  only  a  vague  grandeur, 
which,  out  of  the  sphere  of  our  consciousness, 
could  be  only  half  understood  by  it,  we  should 


OF    DIVINE    TRUTH.  21 

feel  no  more  shame  in  falling  short  of  that  ideal 
than  the  worm  in  that  it  cannot  cope  with  the 
eagle's  flight,  or  the  stammering  child  in  that  he 
possesses  not  the  wisdom  and  the  eloquence  of 
the  sage.  But  the  latent  element  that  lends 
sharpness  to  the  stings  of  self-accusation  in  the 
mind  aroused  by  the  manifestation  of  the  truth, 
is  the  involuntary  recognition  in  Christ  of  a  dig- 
nity we  have  lost,  an  inheritance  we  have  wast- 
ed, a  perfection  for  which  the  spirit  of  man  was 
formed,  but  which  it  has  basely  disowned.  Re- 
pentance is  the  recognition  by  the  fallen  self  of 
its  true  self  in  Christ.  As  the  touched  and 
troubled  heart  listens  to  the  story  of  that  beau- 
teous life  ;  as  there  rises  before  the  spirit's 
quickened  eye  the  vision  of  a  Perfect  Innocence 
in  human  form — of  a  sublime  purity  with  which 
no  alloy  of  sternness  mingles,  a  mental  and  moral 
elevation  in  which  no  trace  of  self-consciousness 
can  be  detected,  a  piety  rapt  as  an  angel's  com- 
bined with  the  unassuming  simplicity  of  a  child, 
— as  we  ponder  the  narrative  of  a  life  of  holiest 
fellowship  with  God,  maintained  amidst  inces- 
sant toil  and  intercourse  with  men,  a  life  of  per- 


22  SELF-EVIDENCING    NATURE 

sistent  self-sacrifice,  undimmed  by  one  thought 
of  personal  ease,  or  one  act  of  selfish  indulgence 
— a  life  in  which  love,  tender  as  a  mother's, 
grew  more  fervent  amidst  ingratitude,  waxed 
stronger  and  deeper  amidst  insults  and  wrongs 
received  at  the  very  hands  of  its  objects; — in 
one  word,  as  inspiration  summons  up  to  the 
awakened  mind  the  spectacle  of  a  perfectly  holy 
human  life,  the  deepest  instincts  of  our  nature 
are  stirred  to  discern  herein  its  own  lost  ideal — 
the  type  of  excellence  after  which  it  may  have 
vaguely  groped,  but  which  it  never  realized  till 
now.  "  Here" — is  the  soul's  involuntary  con- 
viction— "  Here  is  that  conception  which  haunt- 
ed me  ever  in  my  sinfulness,  yet  which  I  never 
fully  discerned  till  now ;  here  is  that  Light  to 
which  my  darkened  conscience  was  vainly 
struggling,  that  standard  to  which  my  dim  sense 
of  a  Right  I  was  abusing,  a  Purity  I  was  sully- 
ing, a  home  of  my  spirit's  peace  and  innocence 
I  was  forsaking,  ever  unconsciously  pointed. 
And  in  this  my  vague  and  shadowy  Ideal  now 
become  the  Real,  in  this  which  gives  to  the  fan- 
tasy of  my  weak  and  wavering  imagination  cor- 


OFDIVINETKUTH.  23 

rectness,  condensation,  reality, — in  this  truth  of 
life  in  Christ  Jesus  there  is  that  which  '  com- 
mends itself  to  my  conscience  in  the  sight  of 
God.' " 

2.  Again;  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus  com- 
mends itself  to  our  consciousness,  not  only  in 
revealing  to  man  the  Lost  Ideal  of  his  nature, 
but  also  in  discovering  to  him  the  mode  of  regain- 
ing it.  The  Scriptures  appeal  to  man's  nature 
for  a  verification  of  their  account,  not  only  of 
the  ruin  that  affects  it,  but  also  of  the  mode  of 
recovery ;  they  claim  from  the  conscience  not 
only  a  response  to  their  description  of  the  dis- 
ease, but  also  a  recognition  of  the  suitability  and 
sufficiency  of  the  remedy  they  prescribe.  The 
gospel  awakens  in  man's  breast  an  echo  to  its 
teaching,  first,  in  the  mournful  acknowledgment, 
"  this  is  the  purity  and  peace  I  have  lost,"  and 
then  in  the  joyful  recognition,  "  this,  and  none 
but  this,  is  the  mode  of  regaining  it." 

No  state  of  mind  can  be  conceived  more  dis- 
tressing than  that  of  the  man  who,  voluntarily 
or  involuntarily,  is  falling  below  his  own  ideal. 
To  have  within  me  the  conception  of  a  high  and 


24  SELF-EVIDENCING    NATURE 

noble  standard  with  which  my  own  perform- 
ances are  in  miserable  contrast,  the  vision  of  a 
beauty  and  excellence  which  I  admire  and 
honor,  but  which,  in  all  that  I  am,  and  all  that 
I  do,  I  practically  disown ;  this  is  a  condition 
the  painfulness  of  which  no  mind  can  long  en- 
dure. For  a  man's  own  comfort,  he  must  either 
forget  his  ideal,  or  strive  to  realise  it ;  banish 
from  his  mind  the  thought  of  his  lost  purity  and 
happiness,  or  set  himself  to  regain  it. 

It  would  be  mistaken  kindness  to  take  a 
child,  whose  destined  lot  in  life  is  a  lowly  and 
penurious  one,  and  let  him  live  in  a  home  of 
wealth  and  refinement  long  enough  to  familiar- 
ize him  with  the  tastes,  habits,  feelings  of  a  high 
social  sphere  ;  for  by  so  doing  you  would  only 
awaken  in  his  mind  unsatisfied  desires,  and  ren- 
der him  wretched  in  his  humble  condition  by 
the  consciousness  of  a  standard  far  above  its  re- 
sources. Or  take  the  poor  member  of  some 
rude  and  savage  race,  and  permit  him  to  reside 
in  a  civilized  country  till  his  mind  has  become 
in  some  measure  receptive  of  the  ideas,  and  ac- 
customed to  the  amenities,  of  civilization,  and 


OF     DIVINE'   TRUTH.  25 

then  send  him  back  to  his  former  haunts  and 
companionships.  Would  not  the  result  of  such 
a  discipline,  in  all  probability,  be  that  which  has 
sometimes  been  witnessed  in  the  contact  of  bar- 
barism with  civilisation — profound  melancholy 
in  the  remembrance  of  a  lost  social  elevation,  or 
recklessness  in  the  attempt  to  forget  it  ?  But 
such  illustrations  fall  far  short  of  the  misery  of 
a  mind  on  which  has  dawned  the  true  concep- 
tion of  the  nobleness  of  human  life,  the  lofty 
ideal  of  moral  greatness  in  Christ  Jesus,  whilst 
yet  its  own  life  is  one  of  selfishness  and  sin. 
To  such  a  mind  there  are  but  two  ways  in 
which  it  can  attempt  to  regain  its  lost  tranquil- 
lity— viz.,  either  the  miserable  and  ineffectual 
way  of  reckless  self-forgetfulness,  or  the  true 
and  Christian  way  of  earnest  aspiration  and  en- 
deavor to  reach  its  own  ideal,  and  become  that 
which  it  admires. 

Now,  the  gospel  not  only  brings  before  man 
the  true  representation  of  his  lost  perfection  and 
glory  in  Christ  Jesus,  but  it  so  meets  and  adapts 
itself  to  the  soul  which  is  in  the  attitude  of 
aspiration  after  that  perfection,  that  the  whole 


Caird. 


26  SELF-EVIDENCING    NATURE 

conscious  nature  recognises  and  responds  to  the 
provision  that  is  made  for  its  wants  and  exi- 
gencies. 

The  great  obstacles  to  the  soul's  recovery  of 
its  lost  ideal  are  obviously  these  two — the  sense 
of  Guilt  and  the  consciousness  of  Moral  Weak- 
ness ;  and  the  two  great  needs,  therefore,  of 
every  awakened  mind,  are  the  need  of  Forgive- 
ness and  the  need  of  Moral  Strength.  And  it 
is  in  meeting  and  supplying  these  wants  that  the 
truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus  commends  itself  most  pro- 
foundly to  the  consciousness  of  man. 

(1.)  The  soul  aspiring  after  holiness  craves, — 
to  take  the  former  of  these, — deliverance  from 
Guilt ;  and  to  that  deep-felt  want  the  gospel  re- 
sponds in  the  revelation  of  God  in  Christ  Jesus. 
Consider  how  it  is  that  the  sense  of  guilt  re- 
presses aspiration  and  energy  in  the  awakened 
mind,  and  what,  consequently,  is  the  precise 
nature  of  that  deliverance  from  guilt  after  which 
it  longs.  In  some  respects  the  analogous  case 
of  the  debtor's  embarrassments  may  help  us  to 
conceive  of  the  needs  of  the  guilty  soul.  When 
a  man  becomes  deeply  and  inextricably  involved 


OF    DIVINE    TRUTH.  27 

in  debt,  we  know  that  his  condition  is  often  one 
of  deplorable  incapacity  and  weakness.  Debt 
acts  as  a  dead-weight  on  a  man's  energies.  He 
who  rises  day  by  day  to  the  consciousness  of 
obligations  which  he  can  not  meet,  who  sees  no 
possibility  of  extrication  from  pecuniary  diffi- 
culties, not  seldom  loses  all  elasticity  of  mind — 
becomes  spiritless,  languid,  enervated.  He  has 
no  heart  to  enter  on  any  new  work  or  enterprise 
so  long  as  the  past,  with  its  hateful  involvements, 
is  ever  confronting  him.  Do  what  he  may,  he 
feels  that  no  eifort  of  his  can  do  more  than  cleai 
off  a  mere  fraction  of  the  burden  that  oppresses 
him,  and  so  the  main  stimulus  to  exertion  is 
gone.  Unable  to  retrieve  the  past,  he  perhaps 
resigns  himself  with  a  dull  hopelessness  and  in- 
activity to  his  lot ;  or,  feeling  that  he  can  not 
make  matters  better,  becomes  careless  how  he 
makes  them  worse.  What  this  man  wants  in 
order  to  rouse  him  to  effort,  is  to  cut  off  his  con- 
nection with  the  past,  to  sweep  away  its  accu- 
mulated and  insoluble  obligations,  and  let  him 
have  a  fair  start  in  life  again.  Or,  again,  it  may 
aid  us  in  conceiving  of  the  needs  of  a  soul  con- 


28  SELF-EVIDENCING     NATUEE 

scious  of  guilt,  if  we  reflect  on  the  depressing 
influence  often  produced  by  loss  of  character  and 
reputation  in  the  world.  A  man  who  has  lost 
caste  in  society,  has  lost  with  it  one  of  the  most 
powerful  incentives  to  effort.  The  atmosphere 
of  mistrust  and  suspicion  which  past  misdemean- 
ors create  around  the  erring,  has  a  notorious 
tendency  to  crush  hope  and  energy  within  him. 
The  incitements  of  sympathy,  honor,  public 
opinion,  no  longer  act  upon  him.  The  impossi- 
bility of  regaining  his  lost  place  in  the  respect 
and  estimation  of  society,  quells  hope  and  ambi- 
tion in  his  breast ;  and,  aware  how  bad  is  the 
opinion  which  is  entertained  of  him,  he  perhaps 
becomes  careless  how  much  he  deserves  it.  If 
he  could  begin  life  anew — if  the  hateful  Past, 
with  its  indelible  memories,  could  be  annihilated 
— it  might  be  different  with  him ;  but  that 
dreadful  Past  haunts  his  thoughts,  is  reflected 
from  the  looks  of  his  fellow-men,  disturbs  and 
oppresses  him  wherever  he  goes.  Do  what  he 
may,  men  will  not  think  well  of  him,  and  he 
perhaps  abandons  himself  to  the  wretched  con- 
tentment of  despair. 


OF     DIVINE     TRUTH.  29 

Now,  such  analogies  as  these  may  aid  our 
conceptions  of  that  obstacle  which  guilt  presents 
to  the  soul  that  is  longing  to  regain  its  lost 
moral  glory.  Like  debt,  conscious  guilt  hangs 
upon  the  awakened  spirit,  and  clogs  its  energies. 
Of  what  avail  any  new  effort  to  be  good,  so  long 
as  that  record  of  neglected  duties  and  responsi- 
bilities confronts  it  ?  The  utmost  exertion  is  in- 
sufficient even  to  meet  the  demands  of  daily  duty 
much  less  can  it  serve  to  wipe  off  the  old  score 
of  guilt.  Each  day  but  adds  to  the  undischarged 
and  ever-growing  debt;  and  the  burden  on  the 
conscience,  do  what  the  man  will,  becomes 
heavier  and  heavier.  If  he  could  but  begin  life 
anew — if  the  past  could  be  lived  over  again — if 
the  troubled  soul  could  be  made  to  feel  as  if  the 
past  had  not  been,  and  all  its  accumulated  obli- 
gations were  swept  away — if  the  conscience  were 
left  free  to  enter,  with  all  the  elasticity  of  inno- 
cence, on  a  new  life  of  duty, — then  there  might 
be  hope  for  the  future.  But  no  earthly  power 
can  effect  such  a  discharge.  Nothing  can  dis- 
sever the  soul  from  its  terrible  responsibility  for 
the  debt  of  sin.  So  again,  like  the  ban  of  social 


30  SELF-EVIDENCING     NATUKE 

condemnation,  guilt,  reflecting  in  the  conscience 
the  divine  disapproval,  incapacitates  the  soul  for 
effort.  But  all  such  analogies  are  but  partial 
and  inadequate  representations  of  the  moral 
hindrance  of  guilt.  For  debt,  however,  heavy, 
is  not,  in  the  nature  of  things,  insoluble  or  un- 
transferable ;  but  guilt  is.  There  is  at  least  the 
possibility  that  the  insolvent  man  may,  by  re- 
doubled exertions,  or  by  some  unexpected  access 
of  fortune,  or  by  the  intervention  of  a  friend,  be 
freed  from  the  depressing  responsibility  for  the 
past.  But  in  sin  the  aroused  conscience  feels 
that  there  is  a  certain  strange  indelibleness. 
8m,  once  committed,  can  not  be  unsinned.  No 
conceivable  earthly  resources  can  ever  pay  off 
the  debt  which  a  guilty  deed  involves,  and  there 
is  no  possibility  of  transferring  the  obligation  to 
another.  The  man,  again,  who  has  compromised 
himself  with  human  society,  may,  by  lapse  of 
time  or  removal  from  the  scene  of  his  misdeeds, 
escape  from  the  depressing  influence  of  social  sus- 
picion and  mistrust.  But  from  the  ban  of  Omni- 
science there  is  no  such  escape.  Infinite  Justice 
is  independent  of  space  and  time.  It  knows  no 


OF     DIVINE     TRUTH.  81 

locality,  no  lapse  of  ages  can  wear  out  its 
hostility  to  a  sin.  Nay,  even  if  it  could  be  con- 
ceived capable  of  such  leniency,  it  would  be  in 
vain.  If  God,  by  a  simple  act  of  oblivion,  could 
pass  over  the  awakened  sinner's  guilt,  his  own 
conscience  would  not  suffer  him  to  forget  it. 
He  would  be  "  the  wrath  of  God  unto  himself." 
The  aroused  conscience  does  not  want  a  mere 
act  of  amnesty.  It  craves  for  the  condemnation 
of  its  sin,  in  the  very  agony  of  the  desire  to  be 
freed  from  it.  It  sympathises  with  the  law  by 
which  itself  is  condemned  ;  and  no  good-natured 
clemency,  no  slight  or  easy  pardon — nothing 
will  satisfy  it,  unless  the  sin  be  branded  with 
the  mark  of  the  law's  offended  majesty — be  ex- 
posed to  the  righteous  wrath  of  that  awful  and 
absolute  Purity  it  has  offended, — unless  the 
culprit  sin  be,  as  it  were,  led  out  to  execution, 
and  slain  before  it. 

Now,  it  is  this  deep  necessity  of  the  awak- 
ened spirit,  which,  in  the  revelation  of  God  in 
Christ,  the  gospel  meets — a  revelation  in  the 
person,  life,  and  death  of  Jesus,  which  includes 
at  once  the  most  complete  condemnation  of  sin, 


32  SELF-EVIDENCING    NATURE 

and  the  most  ample  forgiveness  of  the  sinner. 
For  here,,  for  one  thing,  we  have  set  before  us, 
in  the  Person  of  Christ,  Infinite  Purity  taking 
the  very  nature  of  the  guilty  into  most  intimate 
union  with  itself;  and  surely  this,  to  the 
troubled  conscience,  is  no  slight  indication  of 
divine  forgiveness.  It  were  no  light  thing  for 
some  poor  outcast  from  society,  if,  while  brood- 
ing over  its  misery  and  despair,  some  good  and 
holy  man  should,  setting  all  false  dignity  at  de- 
fiance, come  to  the  home  of  infamy,  and  offer  to 
that  poor  child  of  sin  and  shame  his  love,  his 
friendship,  his  affiance.  Abandoned  of  society, 
lost  to  others'  respect  and  to  its  own,  yet  yearn- 
ing for  one  ray  of  hope  or  comfort,  what  cheer- 
ing, what  hopefulness,  what  new  life  would  re- 
animate that  saddened  spirit  when  it  discovered 
itself  not  so  utterly  lost  as  that  a  gentle,  pure, 
and  good  man,  could  not  love  and  care  for  it ! 
But  here,  in  this  revelation  of  God  in  Christ,  is 
the  assurance  that  that  Holy  One,  in  whose 
presence  angelic  purity  grows  dim,  stoops  to 
take  the  very  nature  of  the  guilty,  and  blend  it 
in  mysterious  affiance  with  His  own.  Surely 


OF    DIVINE     TRUTH.  33 

the  trembling  heart  may  cease  to  despair  of  it- 
self, or  regard  the  past  with  hopeless  despon- 
dency, when  that  very  Being,  in  whom  all  law 
and  right  are  centred,  who  is  Himself  essential 
Holiness  identified  in  His  very  being  with  abso- 
lute Good,  condescends  to  wed  the  nature  of 
man,  guilty  and  fallen  though  he  be,  into  closest 
affinity  with  Himself.  But  more  than  this  :  the 
gospel  brings  relief  to  the  self-condemned  spirit 
by  exhibiting  Infinite  Purity,  not  only  conde- 
scending to  assume  the  nature  of  the  guilty,  but 
also  in  that  nature  passing  through  a  history 
which  brings  it  into  ceaseless  contact  with  sin 
in  all  its  undisguised  hatefulness  and  hostility 
to  God.  As  if  it  were  designed  to  prove  to  the 
most  alarmed  and  desponding  conscience  that  it 
is  from  no  inadequate  perception  of  man's  guilt 
that  mercy  is  extended  to  him,  the  Purity  of 
heaven  Incarnate  exposes  itself  to  a  long-con- 
tinued contiguity  with  evil  in  its  most  hateful 
forms  ;  permits  itself  to  be  pierced  with  all  the 
anguish  that  sin's  hostility  could  inflict  upon  it ; 
stands  with  the  sensitive  front  of  innocence  the 
mark  of  all  the  poisoned  arrows  from  sin's 

2* 


34  SELF-EVIDENCING     NATURE 

quiver;  suffers  earth  and  hell  to  brand  upon 
that  holiest,  gentlest  spirit,  as  if  in  letters  of 
fire,  sin's  hatefulness ;  and  at  last  yields  up  it- 
self as  sin's  victim  into  the  hands  of  death.  Yet, 
with  all  this,  from  first  to  last,  infinitely  loving 
right,  unerringly  cognisant  of  man's  guilt,  taking 
the  full  guage  of  the  abhorrent  nature  of  that 
which  He  forgave,  Jesus  is  seen  with  mercy 
ever  on  His  lip,  forgiveness,  compassion,  love  to 
sinners  in  His  every  look  and  act.  And  finally, 
the  gospel  permits  us  to  think  of  Christ  as  one 
who,  in  conveying  pardon  to  guilt,  instead  of  re- 
laxing the  strictness,  or  bringing  slight  on  the 
unbending  rectitude  of  God's  law,  offers  up  the 
grandest  possible  tribute  to  its  majesty  and  the 
most  awful  atonement  for  the  sins  that  infringed 
it.  Here,  therefore,  in  this  gospel  of  Christ  is  the 
most  ample  provision  made  for  the  guilty  spirit's 
needs.  Though  my  sin  cannot  be  literally  un- 
sinned,  though  the  past  is  irrevocable,  though  no 
moral  act  once  done  can  ever  be  annulled,  yet 
surely  in  this  my  trembling  heart  may  find  the 
rest  for  which  it  craves — the  assurance  that  the 
past  may  be  forgotten,  and  that  sin  is  blotted 


OF     DIVINE     TRUTH.  3~> 

out  by  an  act  in  which  its  guilt  is  most  fearfully 
condemned  and  expiated — when  I  behold  the 
the  very  God  who  is  Law,  Righteousness,  Abso- 
lute Justice,  in  human  form  offering  Himself  up 
to  the  death  to  save  me. 

(2.)  The  other  great  obstacle  to  the  re- 
attainment  of  the  lost  perfection  of  our  nature 
is,  as  I  have  said,  Moral  Weakness, — the  con- 
scious inertness  and  impotence  of  the  soul  in  its 
endeavors  after  holiness ;  and  it  is  in  providing 
for  this  need  of  man's  spirit  also  that  the  gospel 
commends  itself  to  the  consciousness. 

It  is  in  the  attempt  to  reach  its  Lost  Ideal 
that  the  soul  becomes  aware  of  its  own  moral 
weakness.  It  is  not  when  the  sick  man  lies 
prostrated  by  disease  that  he  feels  most  his  own 
feebleness,  but  when  he  begins  to  rally,  and  at- 
tempts to  rise  and  walk, — it  is  then  that,  by  the 
trembling  step  and  tottering  limb,  he  becomes 
aware  how  his  strength  has  been  wasted.  When 
despotism  has  so  quelled  a  nation's  spirit  that  it 
cares  not  to  put  forth  the  feeblest  resistance  to 
its  thraldom,  it  is  not  then  that  it  is  in  a  condi- 
tion to  discover  the  hopelessness  of  its  bondage ; 


36  SELF-EVIDENCING     NATURE 

but  when,  the  spirit  of  insurrection  roused,  the 
attempt  has  been  made  to  throw  off  the  hateful 
yoke,  and  made  in  vain, — it  is  then  that,  in  the 
strife  and  pain  and  mortification  of  discomfited 
rebellion,  it  learns  by  bitter  experience  the  ter- 
ribleness  of  that  power  which  keeps  it  down.  So 
it  is  not  when  sin  holds  undisturbed  dominion  in 
the  soul,  but  when  the  new  ideal  of  holiness 
dawns  upon  its  vision,  when  the  first  faint 
rallying  efforts  after  God  and  duty  begin  to  be 
made,  it  is  then  that,  in  the  feebleness  of  its 
resolutions,  and  the  miserable  ineffectiveness  of 
its  attempts  to  be  good,  there  is  forced  upon 
it  the  painful  conviction  of  its  own  moral  weak- 
ness. And  then,  too,  rises  the  intense  longing 
for  spiritual  help.  "  Of  what  avail," — is  the  un- 
conscious utterance  of  its  hopelessness  and  its 
aspiration — "  Of  what  avail  my  knowledge  of 
this  glorious  moral  beauty  in  Christ;  of  what 
use  my  perception  of  the  noble  thing  humanity 
might  become,  when  this  only  serves  to  mock 
my  misery  by  the  spectacle  of  unattainable 
good !  Tell  me  not  of  the  beauty  of  goodness, 
the  hatefulness  of  sin,  the  blessedness  of  a  holy 


OF     DIVINE     TRUTH.  37 

life.  I  know  it — I  admit  it ;  but  all  this  is  but 
to  talk  of  health's  joyous  activity  to  the  para- 
lytic, to  point  out  to  the  poor  slave  the  freedom 
for  which  he  sighs  in  vain.  Help  me.  Show  me 
how  to  reach  the  ideal  of  good  that  is  before  me. 
Oh  for  some  gift  of  power,  some  heaven-sent 
strength  to  nerve  my  enfeebled  energies  and 
arm  resolution  with  ability  to  fulfil  its  aims !" 

Now,  the  gospel  commends  itself  to  the  con- 
sciousness by  responding  to  this  deep  want  of 
the  spirit  also.  For  it  reveals  to  the  soul  Christ 
as  not  only  outwardly  the  Ideal,  but  inwardly 
the  Hope  and  Strength  of  humanity.  It  would 
go  no  little  way  towards  meeting  the  needs  of  a 
soul  conscious  of  lofty  desires  and  low  attain- 
ments— of  high  aims  and  miserable  perform- 
ances— if,  in  its  loneliness  and  its  weakness, 
there  should  be  granted  to  it  the  perpetual  pres- 
ence and  guardianship  of  some  lofty  angelic  na- 
ture. Imagine  what  it  would  be,  if,  amidst  all 
your  conscious  moral  weakness,  some  bright  and 
loving  spirit  from  the  heavens  should  assume 
the  task  of  watching  over  you.  Think  what  aid 
it  would  afford  you  in  your  religious  life — weak, 


38  SELF-EVIDENCING     NATURE 

wavering,  perplexed  as  you  often  are — to  have 
a  guardian  spirit,  strong  with  heaven's  strength, 
and  pure  with  heaven's  purity,  ever  near  you. 
Think  how  all  your  better  nature  would  be  stim- 
ulated, your  evil  self  repressed,  the  whole  moral 
tone  of  life  elevated  and  ennobled,  if,  wherever 
you  went,  the  sweet,  bright,  hallowing  sense  of 
that  loving  spirit's  presence  hung  around  you 
like  an  atmosphere.  Conceive  of  him  accom- 
panying you  into  all  scenes  of  temptation,  and 
whispering,  in  the  moment  of  irresolution,  the 
prompting  word  of  counsel,  warning,  or  remon- 
strance ;  in  -all  perplexities  imagine  your  spirit- 
friend  ever  at  hand  to  solve  your  difficulties  and 
point  out  the  path  of  duty :  in  the  world  a  pre- 
sence that  gave  dignity  to  life's  humblest,  coars- 
est cares ;  and  in  your  lonely  or  meditative 
hours  still  beside  you,  breathing  the  air  of  hea- 
ven into  your  solitude,  and  by  his  converse,  ele- 
vating thought,  enkindling  devotion,  and  causing 
the  whole  soul  to  swell  with  high  resolves  and 
holy  aspirations.  What  a  boon  were  this  to 
weak  and  wavering  man !  How  would  each 
poor  self-distrustful  spirit  leap  forth  to  welcome 


OF     DIVINE     TRUTH.  39 

such  ennobling  companionship  !  Or  would  it 
not  be  still  better — a  blessing  still  more  ade- 
quate to  your  needs — if  not  an  angelic  visitant, 
but  Jesus  Christ,  your  divine  Lord  Himself, 
should  return  in  visible  form,  and  in  like  man- 
ner as  of  old  He  frequented  earthly  homes,  so 
come  and  abide  in  yours.  Let  any  contrite  soul, 
longing  for  the  goodness  it  cannot  reach,  per- 
turbed by  the  evil  from  which  it  cannot  escape, 
think  what  it  would  be  to  have  Jesus  of  Naza- 
reth dwelling  for  a  single  year  with  it  as  a  fa- 
miliar companion  and  friend.  Imagine  that, 
when  in  your  conscious  spiritual  weakness  your 
cry  for  help  ascends  to  the  throne,  that  glorious 
Saviour  should  hear,  and  in  answer  condescend 
Himself  to  leave  yonder  heavens,  and  for  a 
while  share  your  lot  on  earth,  however  lowly, 
and  abide  beneath  your  roof  as  your  ever-pres- 
ent Counsellor  and  Guide.  What  a  home  would 
that  be  where  such  a  presence  rested  !  What 
an  atmosphere  of  heaven  would  pervade  it ! 
What  a  resource  would  its  happy  inmates  pos- 
sess in  all  difficulties  and  perplexities  !  What 
holy  ardor,  what  strength  for  duty  would  fill 


40  S  E  L  F-E  VIDENCING     NATURE 

every  heart  !  If  this  blessed  presence  and 
guidance  were  offered  to  us,  would  not  each 
self-distrustful  soul  hail  it  as  a  boon  inestimable  ? 
Would  not  the  response  of  the  spirit  be — 
"  Come,  0  my  Saviour,  for  sorely  I  need  thy 
presence  ;  my  thoughts  are  confused,  my  affec- 
tions languid,  my  purposes  weak  and  wavering. 
Come,  0  my  Saviour,  and  with  thee  my  whole 
being  shall  grow  bright  and  strong !" 

But  if  an  outward  presence  or  guardianship 
such  as  this  would  meet  the  soul's  needs,  how 
much  more  fully  are  they  met  in  that  which  is 
the  great  crowning  blessing  of  the  gospel — the 
dispensation  of  the  Spirit.  For,  if  angelic  guar- 
dianship would  be  a  boon  to  any  soul,  if  the 
attendance  of  a  guardian  spirit,  counselling, 
prompting,  strengthening,  would  help  us  in  our 
spiritual  life,  here  we  have  this,  and  more  than 
this,  actually  bestowed  upon  us.  A  Spirit, 
would  we  but  realize  His  presence,  is  ever  with 
us  to  prompt  each  holy  thought  and  nerve  each 
pure  resolve.  If  Christ,  as  an  outward  visitant, 
would  be  eagerly  welcomed,  if  it  would  be  a 
blessing  to  have  him  dwelling  for  a  season  with- 


OF     DIVINE     TRUTH.  41 

in  our  home,  here,  in  the  dispensation  of  His 
grace,  we  are  told  of  a  blessing  greater  still — of 
a  presence  of  Jesus  not  within  the  house  merely, 
but  nearer  and  closer  still — within  the  breast — 
within  the  heart.  To  every  soul  that  will  re- 
ceive Him,  that  very  Jesus  who  departed  as  a 
visible  presence  from  this  earth,  comes  back  as 
an  inward  and  invisible  Comforter.  As  really 
and  more  intimately  than  when  men  beheld  His 
countenance,  and  listened  to  His  words  of  love 
and  power,  Jesus  is  with  us  still.  If  it  would 
strengthen  you  in  your  difficulties  and  struggles 
to  know  that  He  is  near,  to  hear  Him  speak,  to 
take  hold  of  His  strengthening  hand, — know 
that  He  is  nearer  still  than  this.  Every  pure 
thought  that  rises  in  your  breast  is  Christ's  sug- 
gestion; every  holy  desire  and  resolution  the 
proof  that  He  is  at  hand  ;  every  kindling  of  the 
spirit  into  devotion  the  unconscious  recognition 
by  the  spirit  of  His  heavenly  presence  near. 
Open  the  door  of  the  heart  to  Him,  and  the  very 
mind  and  soul  of  Jesus  will  pass  into  yours ; 
your  spirit  will  be  suffused  with  His  ;  the  very 
heart  of  Jesus  will  be  beating  within  your  breast 


4:2  SELF-EVIDENCING     NATUEE 

— Christ  will  be  "  in  you  the  hope  of  glory." 
0  say,  weak  and  wavering  soul,  is  not  this  all 
thou  needest  in  order  to  be  holy,  peaceful, 
strong  ?  As  a  reviving  cordial  to  the  fainting 
body,  does  not  His  divine  grace  commend  itself 
to  the  inmost  consciousness  in  the  sight  of  God  ? 

The  subject  which  we  have  now  examined 
suggests  to  us,  in  conclusion,  an  obvious  lesson 
as  to  the  universal  responsibility  of  man  for  the 
belief  of  the  truth.  For  the  evidence  on  which 
divine  truth  bases  its  claim  to  our  reception,  is 
one  cognisable  and  appreciable  by  all.  It  ap- 
peals not  to  man  as  an  educated  or  intellectually 
accomplished  being,  but  to  man  as  man.  It 
requires  no  intellectual  effort  for  its  recognition. 
It  addresses  itself  not  to  any  faculty  in  man 
which  is  developed  only  in  the  minds  of  the 
few,  not  to  his  logical  or  reasoning  powers,  but 
to  that  higher  reason,  that  moral  nature,  which 
is  common  to  all.  Its  appeal,  in  one  word,  is 
mainly,  not  to  the  head,  but  to  the  heart.  No 
one  who  listens  to  the  message  of  divine  truth, 
can  excuse  his  neglect  or  rejection  of  it  by 


OF     DIVINE    TRUTH.  43 

pleading  intellectual  incapacity — by  saying  that 
he  is  incapable  of  following  out  a  process  of  his- 
toric proof,  or  of  weighing  elaborate  arguments, 
and  investigating  subtle  trains  of  reasoning.  If 
the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus  were  a  philosophy, 
such  an  excuse  might  be  valid.  If  it  pre-sup- 
posed,  in  order  to  the  reception  of  it,  the  same 
powers  which  qualify,  for  instance,  for  the  in- 
tellectual and  critical  study  of  the  higher  mathe- 
matics or  metaphysics,  then  would  its  evidence 
be  utterly  beyond  the  range  of  the  vast  major- 
ity of  men,  and  the  humble  and  illiterate  might 
justly  be  exonerated  from  all  responsibility  for 
their  ignorance  or  unbelief.  But  the  gospel  is  no 
philosophy.  The  truth  of  Christ  is  to  be  veri- 
fied, not  by  the  critical  intellect,  but  by  the 
common  heart  and  consciousness  of  humanity. 
Wherever  there  is  a  heart  that  throbs  with  the 
common  sensibilities  of  our  nature — wherever 
there  is  a  soul  capable  of  love,  and  pity,  and 
tenderness,  and  truth — there  is  fit  audience 
and  sufficient  attestation  for  the  gospel.  The 
lisping  babe,  that  stammers  forth  its  first  prayer 
of  wondering  awe  and  love  to  the  great  Father ; 


44  SELF-EVIDENCING    NATURE 

the  poor  day-laborer,  whose  intellect  never 
ranges  beyond  the  narrow  round  of  his  daily 
toils ;  the  weak,  worn  sufferer,  stretched  on  the 
bed  of  pain,  incapable  of  the  faintest  approach 
to  consecutive  thought  or  reasoning,  bereft  of 
almost  every  other  power  but  the  power  to  love 
and  pray — these  as  much,  nay  more,  than  the 
most  erudite  assemblies  of  high  and  philosophic 
minds,  constitute  the  auditors  to  whom  the  gos- 
pel appeals  for  the  verification  of  its  claims. 

It  is  true  that  the  highest  minds  may  fitly 
occupy  their  ratiocinative  powers  in  the  investi- 
gation of  the  evidence,  and  the  systematic  study 
and  development  of  the  truth.  But  let  us  never 
confound  the  gifts  and  acquirements  necessary 
for  the  theologian  with  those  of  the  believer. 
The  powers  sufficient  to  perceive  and  know  and 
relish,  are  ever  to  be  distinguished  from  the 
powers  that  are  needed  in  order  to  theorize..  It 
may  imply  much  intellectual  power  to  draw  out 
and  digest  the  theory  and  laws  of  music,  but 
many  who  know  nothing  of  the  subject  theo- 
retically can  sing  and  be  delighted  by  song. 
And  to  make  a  man  relish  music,  a  good  ear  is 


OF    DIVINE    TRUTH.  45 

better  than  all  the  analytic  powers  in  the  world. 
It  may  demand  the  most  subtle  intellect  to  dis- 
cuss metaphysically  the  theory  and  laws  of 
beauty,  but  no  such  powers  are  needed  to  gaze 
with  delight  on  the  glory  of  the  grass  and  the 
splendor  of  the  flower.  In  investigating  the 
problem  of  the  foundation  of  morals,  metaphys- 
ical minds  of  the  rarest  order  have  been  em- 
ployed for  ages ;  but  to  honor  an  unselfish  or 
noble  act — to  perceive  and  hate  baseness  and 
selfishness— to  appreciate  what  is  pure  and  lovely 
and  of  good  report — needs  qualities  which  no 
metaphysic  skill  can  confer,  and  yet  which  may 
be  found  in  the  garret  or  hovel  where  rude  and 
unlettered  poverty  dwells.  And  so  it  is  not 
the  scholar's  or  the  theologian's  acquirements 
that  best  qualify  for  apprehending  and  appre- 
ciating the  evidence  of  the  truth  as  it  is  in 
Jesus.  These  may  be  indispensable  for  the 
theoretic  analysis  and  development  of  the  truth, 
but  the  consciousness  of  spiritual  need — the 
yearning  after  pardon  and  reconciliation  with 
God — the  orphan  instincts  of  the  spirit  towards 
its  lost  Father — the  contrition,  the  humility, 


46  SELF-EVIDENCING    NATURE 

the  meek  trust  and  self-devotion  of  an  awakened 
and  earnest  soul — these  are  the  qualities  which, 
apart  from  all  theologic  talents  and  attainments, 
constitute  the  humblest,  rudest  mind  that  pos- 
sesses them,  a  deeper  critic  of  divine  truth  than 
the  profoundest  intellect  or  the  rarest  scholar- 
ship. The  truth  of  the  gospel,  hid  from  the 
wise  and  prudent,  may  be  revealed  to  babes. 
Ages  of  intellectual  study  will  not  serve  to 
teach  that  of  the  gospel's  truth  and  power, 
which  may  be  learned  by  one  upward  glance  of 
a  tearful  eye  at  the  great  Deliverer's  feet. 
Honor  to  those  who  bring  their  genius  and 
their  intellectual  lore  to  the  service  and  illus- 
tration of  the  truth !  But  be  your  gifts  of 
reason  what  they  may,  to  you,  as  capable  of 
knowing  it — as  bound  to  receive  it,  the  gospel 
appeals.  Open  your  heart  to  it — yield  up  your 
spirit  to  its  blessed  teachings — pray  for  the 
grace  and  guidance  of  the  Spirit  of  God,  and  the 
truth  will  constitute  to  you  its  own  evidence. 
It  will  carry  conviction  to  your  heart  of  hearts. 
As  you  listen  to  it,  the  music  of  a  heavenly 
voice  will  steal  upon  the  inner  ear ;  a  beauty 


OF    DIVINE    TRUTH.  47 

that  is  not  of  this  world — a  beauty  more  glori- 
ous far  than  that  which  sits  on  mountain  and 
stream  and  forest,  will  shine  forth  upon  the  in- 
ner eye  of  faith,  in  the  discernment  and  recog- 
nition of  which  the  Truth  will  "  commend  itself 
to  your  consciousness  in  the  sight  of  God." 


-   porann. 


"  Who  can  understand  his  errors  ?     Cleanse  thou  me  from  secret 
faults."— PSALM  xix.  12. 

TT  -i        ^F  a^  kinds  of  ignorance,  that 
bJhKM.  It.]  . 

which   is   the  most  strange,  and, 

in  so  far  as  it  is  voluntary,  the  most  culpa- 
ble, is  our  ignorance  of  Self.  For  not  only  is 
the  subject,  in  this  case,  that  which  might  be 
expected  to  possess  for  us  the  greatest  interest, 
but  it  is  the  one  concerning  which  we  have  am- 
plest facilities  and  opportunities  of  information. 
Who  of  us  would  not  think  it  a  strange  and  un- 
accountable story,  could  it  be  told  of  any  man 
now  present,  that  for  years  he  had  harbored 
under  his  roof  a  guest  whose  face  he  had  never 
seen — a  constant  inmate  of  his  home,  who  was 
yet  to  him  altogether  unknown  ?  It  is  no  sup- 
position, however,  but  an  unquestionable  fact, 
that  to  not  a  few  of  us,  from  the  first  moment 
of  existence,  there  has  been  present,  not  be- 


S  E  L  F  -  I  G  N  O  R  AN  C  E.  49 

neath  the  roof,  but  within  the  breast,  a  myste- 
rious resident,  an  inseparable  companion,  nearer 
to  us  than  friend  or  brother,  yet  of  whom,  after 
all,  we  know  little  or  nothing.  What  man  of 
intelligence  amongst  us  would  not  be  ashamed 
to  have  had  in  his  possession  for  years  some 
rare  or  universally  admired  volume  with  its 
leaves  uncut  ? — or  to  be  the  proprietor  of  a  re- 
pository, filled  with  the  most  exquisite  produc- 
tions of  genius,  and  the  rarest  specimens  in  sci- 
ence and  art,  which  yet  he  himself  never  thought 
of  entering  ?  Yet  surely  no  book  so  worthy  of 
perusal,  no  chamber  containing  objects  of  study 
so  curious,  so  replete  with  interest  for  us,  as 
that  which  seldom  or  never  attracts  our  observa- 
tion— the  book,  the  chamber  of  our  own  hearts. 
We  sometimes  reproach  with  folly  those  persons 
who  have  travelled  far,  and  seen  much  of  dis- 
tant countries,  and  yet  have  been  content  to  re- 
main comparatively  unacquainted  with  their  own. 
But  how  venial  such  folly  compared  with  that 
of  ranging  over  all  other  departments  of  knowl- 
edge, going  abroad  with  perpetual  inquisitive- 
ness  over  earth  and  sea  and  sky,  in  search  of 

C»ird.  3 


50  SELF-IGNOKANCE. 

information,  whilst  there  is  a  little  world  within 
the  breast  which  is  still  to  us  an  unexplored 
region.  Other  scenes  and  objects  we  can  study 
only  at  intervals ;  they  are  not  always  accessi- 
ble, or  can  be  reached  only  by  long  and  laborious 
journeys ;  but  the  bridge  of  consciousness  is 
soon  crossed ;  we  have  but  to  close  the  eye  and 
withdraw  the  thoughts  from  the  world  without, 
in  order  at  any  moment  to  wander  through  the 
scenes  and  explore  the  phenomena  of  the  still 
more  wondrous  world  within.  To  examine  other 
objects,  delicate  and  elaborate  instruments  are 
often  necessary  ;  the  researches  of  the  astrono- 
mer, the  botanist,  the  chemist,  can  be  prosecuted 
only  by  means  of  rare  and  costly  apparatus ; 
but  the  power  of  reflection,  that  faculty  more 
wondrous  than  any  mechanism  which  art  has 
ever  fashioned,  is  an  instrument  possessed  by 
all ;  the  poorest  and  most  illiterate,  alike  with 
the  most  cultured  and  refined,  have  at  their  com- 
mand an  apparatus  by  which  to  sweep  the  inner 
firmament  of  the  soul,  and  bring  into  view  its 
manifold  phenomena  of  thought  and  feeling  and 
motive.  And  yet,  with  all  the  unequalled  facil- 


SELF-IGNORANCE.  51 

ities  for  acquiring  this  sort  of  knowledge,  can  it 
be  questioned  that  it  is  the  one  sort  of  knowl- 
edge that  is  most  commonly  neglected ;  and 
that,  even  amongst  those  who  would  disdain  the 
imputation  of  ignorance  in  history  or  science  or 
literature,  there  are  multitudes  who  have  never 
acquired  the  merest  rudiments  of  the  knowledge 
of  Self? 

What  has  now  been  stated  as  to  the  too  com- 
mon neglect  of  self-knowledge  in  general,  is  em- 
phatically true  with  respect  to  that  branch  of  it 
to  which  the  text  relates.  It  is  the  moral  part 
of  our  nature  with  reference  to  which  defective 
knowledge  is  at  once  the  most  common  and  the 
most  dangerous.  As  a  matter  of  curiosity,  an 
object  of  interesting  study,  every  intelligent  man 
should  know  something  of  the  structure,  organi- 
sation, laws,  and  processes  of  his  physical  and 
of  his  intellectual  nature ;  but  as  a  matter,  not 
of  curious  interest  merely,  but  of  the  last  and 
highest  necessity,  we  ought  to  be  acquainted 
with  our  moral  nature — with  the  condition  of 
our  hearts  in  the  sight  of  God.  The  care  of  our 
bodily  health  we  may  depute  to  another,  and  the 


52  SELF-IGNORANCE. 

skill  of  the  physician  may  render  our  ignorance 
of  physiology  of  little  or  no  practical  moment ; 
to  be  unacquainted  even  with  our  intellectual 
nature,  inobservant  of  its  operations  and  mis- 
taken as  to  its  character,  may  lead  to  no  conse- 
quences more  serious  than  vanity,  self-conceit, 
an  undue  reliance  on  our  own  opinions  ; — but 
when  our  ignorance  relates  not  to  the  body  but 
to  the  soul,  not  to  the  head  but  to  the  heart,  no 
language  can  exaggerate  its  danger.  For  the 
care  of  our  spiritual  health,  the  moral  culture 
and  discipline  of  the  soul,  we  can  never  depute 
to  another;  no  friend  on  earth  can  be  the  soul's 
physician,  or  free  us  from  the  burden  of  our  sol- 
itary responsibility  with  regard  to  it ;  and  un- 
noticed errors  in  the  heart,  unlike  intellectual 
deficiencies,  not  merely  affect  our  temporal  con- 
dition or  our  social  reputation,  but  may  issue  in 
our  eternal  ruin. 

Yet  the  text  suggests,  what  all  experience 
corroborates,  that  it  is  a  man's  moral  defects  that 
are  most  likely  to  elude  his  own  scrutiny. 
There  is  a  peculiar  secresy,  an  inherent  inscru- 
tability, about  our  sins.  Bodily  disease  or  in- 


SELF-IGNORANCE.  53 

jury,  in  the  great  majority  of  cases,  manifests 
its  presence  by  pain — so  obtrudes  itself  on  our 
consciousness,  that  it  is  impossible  for  the  sick 
man  to  be  long  unaware  of  his  danger,  or  indif- 
ferent to  its  removal.  But  it  is  the  peculiar 
characteristic  of  moral  disease,  that  it  does  its 
deadly  work  in  secret.  Sin  is  a  malady  which 
affects  the  very  organ  by  which  itself  can  be 
detected ;  it  creates  the  darkness  amid  which  it 
injures  us,  and  blinds  the  eyes  of  its  victim  in 
the  very  act  of  destroying  him.  If  there  be 
any  bodily  disease  to  which  it  is  analogous,  it  is 
to  that  fatal  malady  which  often  cheats  the  sick 
man  into  a  delusive  tranquillity,  the  deeper  and 
more  deceitful  in  proportion  to  his  danger.  And 
if  the  unconscious  cheerfulness  of  the  dying  be 
sometimes  both  strange  and  sad  ;  if  it  has  ever 
happened  to  us,  as  we  looked  on  the  wan  and 
wasted  countenance  on  which  consumption  had 
set  its  ghastly  seal,  to  listen  with  mingled  won- 
der and  pity  to  the  words  of  unabated  hopeful- 
ness from  the  sick  man's  lips,  surely  more  de- 
serving of  our  pity  is  he  who,  all  unaware  of  his 
spiritual  disease,- is  hastening  on,  in  undisturbed 


54  SELF-IGNORANCE. 

tranquillity  and  self-satisfaction,  to  everlasting 
despair  and  death ! 

Now,  it  is  this  self-concealing  tendency  of  sin, 
and  the  consequent  difficulty  of  forming  a  right 
estimate  of  ourselves,  to  which  the  Psalmist  re- 
fers in  the  prayer  of  the  text — "  Who  can  un- 
derstand his  errors  ? — cleanse  thou  me  from  se- 
cret faults  !"  And  what  I  now  purpose,  in 
following  out  the  train  of  thought  here  sug- 
gested, is  to  point  out  to  you  a  few  of  the 
causes  or  considerations  which  serve  to  explain 
the  self-ignorance  of  the  erring  and  sinful  mind. 

I.  One  reason  why  the  sinful  man  does  not 
"  understand  his  errors"  is — That  sin  can  be 
truly  measured  only  when  it  is  resisted.  It  is  im- 
possible to  estimate  the  strength  of  the  principle 
of  evil  in  the  soul  till  we  begin  to  struggle  with 
it ;  and  the  careless  or  sinful  man — the  man 
who,  by  supposition,  is  not  striving  with,  but  suc- 
cumbing to  sin,  cannot  know  its  force.  So  long 
as  evil  reigns  unopposed  within  the  soul,  it  will 
reign,  in  a  great  degree,  unobserved.  So  long 
as  a  man  passively  and  thoughtlessly  yields  up 


SELF-IGNORANCE.  55 

his  will  to  the  sway  of  worldly  principles  or  un- 
holy desires  and  habits,  he  is  in  no  condition  to 
measure  their  intensity — scarcely  to  discover 
their  existence.  For  in  this,  as  in  many  other 
cases,  resistance  is  the  best  measure  of  force. 
The  most  powerful  agents  in  nature,  when  un- 
opposed, do  their  work  silently  and  without  at- 
tracting observation  ;  it  is  only  when  some 
counteracting  power  arises  to  dispute  their  sway 
that  attention  is  drawn  to  their  presence  and 
their  potency.  The  rapid  stream  flows  smooth 
and  silent  when  there  are  no  obstacles  to  stay 
its  progress ;  but  hurl  a  rock  into  its  bed,  and 
the  roar  and  surge  of  the  arrested  current  will 
instantly  reveal  its  force.  You  cannot  estimate 
the  wind's  strength  when  it  rushes  over  the 
open  plain ;  but  when  it  reaches  and  wrestles 
with  the  trees  of  the  forest,  or  lashes  the  sea 
into  fury,  then,  resisted,  you  perceive  its  power. 
Or  if,  amidst  the  ice-bound  regions  of  the  North, 
an  altogether  unbroken,  continuous  winter  pre- 
vailed, comparatively  unnoticed  would  be  its 
stern  dominion  ;  but  it  is  the  coming  round  of  a 
more  genial  season,  ,when  the  counteracting 


56  SELF-IGNORANCE. 

agency  of  the  sun  begins  to  prevail,  that  re- 
veals, by  the  rending  of  the  solid  masses  of  ice, 
and  by  the  universal  stir,  and  crash,  and  com- 
motion over  the  face  of  nature,  the  intensity  of 
the  bygone  winter's  cold. 

Now,  so  too  is  it  in  the  spiritual  world.  Sin's 
power  is  revealed  only  in  the  act  of  resistance. 
No  agent  more  potent,  and  none,  if  undisputed, 
more  imperceptible  in  its  operation.  In  many  a 
worldly  and  godless  heart  it  reigns  viewless  as 
the  wind — silent  as  the  smooth  and  rapid 
stream.  Rule  in  whatever  form  it  may — in 
selfishness,  or  worldliness,  or  pride,  or  ambi- 
tion, or  covetousness,  or  sensuality — sin  often 
breathes  over  that  inner  world  an  influence,  not 
only  as  stern  and  withering,  but  also  as  still  and 
unobtrusive  as  an  unbroken  winter's  cold.  On 
the  other  hand,  resistance  discloses  it.  When 
the  aspiration  after  a  purer,  nobler  life  begins  to 
rise  within  the  breast,  and  the  long-passive 
spirit  rouses  its  energies  to  check  the  pride  of 
evil,  to  force  back  and  stay  the  current  of  un- 
holy desire  and  passion  ;  when  the  softening 
principle  of  divine  love  and  grace  begins  to 


SELF-IGNORANCE.  57 

thaw  the  icy  coldness  of  a  godless  heart,  then  it 
is  that  the  soul  becomes  aware  of  the  deadly 
strength  of  sin.  Often  the  sense  of  guilt  breaks 
upon  the  awakened  spirit  with  all  the  strange- 
ness of  a  discovery.  With  the  rise  of  its  new 
and  higher  consciousness  there  comes  upon  the 
soul  the  feeling  of  a  hitherto  unrealized  burden 
— a  heavy  and  intolerable  weight  of  evil,  re- 
straining and  crushing  back  its  new-born  ener- 
gies. Hitherto  at  ease  in  the  embrace  of  sin, 
when  the  vision  of  God  dawns  upon  the  spirit, 
there  is  a  yearning  to  get  near  Him,  and  an  im- 
patience and  galling  sense  of  bondage  in  that 
which  keeps  it  away  from  Him ;  as  when  a 
child,  contentedly  reposing  in  a  stranger's  arms, 
no  sooner  catches  a  glimpse  of  the  parent  than 
it  struggles  and  stretches  out  towards  the  loved 
form,  ill  at  ease  in  that  embrace  in  which  it  had 
till  now  unconsciously  rested.  Nor  is  it  only  in 
the  first  struggles  of  penitence  that  sin  is  re- 
vealed in  its  true  character  to  the  soul.  With 
every  increase  of  spirituality,  whatever  of  evil 
remains  in  it  becomes  more  repulsive  to  its 
keener  sensibilities,  more  irksome  to  its  aspiring 

3* 


58  SELF-IGNOKANCE. 

energies.  Faults  and  errors,  unapparent  or 
venial  to  its  former  consciousness,  become  in  the 
higher  stages  of  the  spiritual  life  more  and  more 
odious  ;  and  in  the  purest  and  best  actions  more 
of  evil  is  now  discerned  than  formerly  in  the 
basest  and  worst.  The  quickened  conscience 
feels  the  drag  of  sin  at  each  successive  step  the 
more  heavy ;  and  as  the  believing  spirit  yearns 
with  an  intenser  longing  for  the  life  of  God,  with 
a  more  indignant  impatience  does  the  cry  break 
from  the  lip—"  Who  shall  deliver  me  from  the 
body  of  this  death  ?" 

II.  Another  reason  for  the  self-ignorance  of 
the  sinner  is — That  sin  often  makes  a  man  afraid 
to  know  himself.  The  suspected  existence  of 
something  wrong  in  the  soul  makes  us  shrink 
from  self-inspection.  Strange  though  it  may 
seem,  the  state  of  mind  is  by  no  means  an  un- 
common one  in  which  a  man  has  a  latent  mis- 
giving that  all  is  not  right  with  his  soul ;  yet, 
from  a  disinclination  to  know  the  whole  truth 
and  to  act  up  to  it,  refrains  from  all  further  ex- 
amination. There  are  few  men  who  do  not  know 


SELF-IGNORANCE.  69 

a  little  of  themselves  ;  multitudes  whom  that 
little  so  disturbs  that  they  refuse  to  know  any 
more.  Ever  and  anon,  even  in  the  most  careless 
life,  the  veil  of  custom  drops,  and  the  soul 
catches  a  glimpse  of  its  own  deep  inward  wretch- 
edness ;  but  the  glimpse  so  terrifies  that  few 
will  look  again.  The  heart  of  a  sinful  man,  laid 
bare  in  all  its  nakedness  to  its  own  inspection, 
is  a  sight  on  which  it  would  be  terrible  to  look 
long ;  and  most  men  prefer  the  delusive  tran- 
quillity of  ignorance  to  the  wholesome  pain  of  a 
thorough  self-revelation. 

And  yet,  this  voluntary  ignorance,  where  in- 
terests so  momentous  are  at  stake,  strange  in 
itself,  becomes  the  more  strange  when  contrasted 
with  our  conduct  in  other  cases.  In  the  affairs 
of  this  world  men  will,  indeed,  often  shun  the 
sight  of  inevitable  evils,  and  refuse  to  disturb 
themselves  by  the  contemplation  of  calamities 
which  it  is  beyond  their  power  to  avert.  But 
where  the  suspected  evil  is  not  beyond  the  reach 
of  remedy,  in  most  minds  there  is  a  disposition 
of  quite  an  opposite  character — a  disposition 
that  seeks,  on  the  least  appearance  of  any  alarm- 


60  SELF-IGNOKANCE. 

ing  symptom,  to  know  the  worst  at  once.  Does 
the  prudent  man  of  business,  for  instance,  light 
on  something  strange  in  his  confidential  ser- 
vant's accounts,  or  are  his  suspicions  awakened 
as  to  the  state  of  some  debtor's  affairs  with 
whom  he  is  deeply  involved — what,  in  the  great 
majority  of  cases,  will  be  his  immediate  mode 
of  action  ?  To  shut  his  eyes  to  the  disagreeable 
information,  and,  by  refraining  from  all  further 
investigation,  purchase  present  ease  at  the  risk 
of  future  ruin  ?  Not  so  ;  but  rather  instantly 
to  set  about  a  rigid  scrutiny,  and  not  to  rest  till 
he  has  sifted  the  matter  to  the  bottom,  though 
the  unpleasant  discovery  should  be  that  his 
servant  has  embezzled  his  property,  or  that  his 
debtor  is  on  the  brink  of  bankruptcy.  Or  does 
the  anxious  and  affectionate  relative  note  with 
alarm  the  symptoms  of  dangerous  disease  in  the 
person  of  one  'he  loves — does  he  see,  or  per- 
suade himself  he  sees,  the  hectic  flush  begin- 
ning to  gather  on  the  cheek — does  he  hear,  or 
think  he  hears,  the  short  sharp  cough,  that 
rouses  all  his  fears  for  the  future, — and  need  I 
ask  what,  in  general,  will  be  the  effect  of  such 


SELF-IGNORANCE.  61 

misgivings  ?  What  parent,  husband,  friend,  at 
such  a  time,  could  consult  his  own  selfish  tran- 
quillity by  ignoring  the  danger,  taking  no  means 
to  discover  its  extent,  and,  if  possible,  to  check 
its  progress  ? 

But,  however  rare  in  the  sphere  of  our 
worldly  interests,  this  voluntary  blindness,  this 
reckless  evasion  of  disagreeable  intelligence,  is 
in  spiritual  things,  even  among  prudent,  wise, 
sagacious  men,  not  the  exception  but  the  rule. 
Inquisitive,  restless,  easily  alarmed  in  other 
cases,  most  men  become  strangely  incurious  here. 
Our  fears  and  suspicions  diminish  instead  of  in- 
creasing, in  proportion  to  the  magnitude  of  the 
interests  involved ;  and  when  it  is  not  our  health 
or  wealth,  or  worldly  fortunes,  but  the  character 
and  happiness  of  the  soul  for  time  and  eternity 
that  are  implicated,  the  almost  universal  en- 
deavor is,  not  to  provide  against  threatened 
danger,  but  to  evade  or  forget  the  signs  of  it. 
Few  men,  indeed,  however  thoughtless  and  in- 
different to  religion,  can  pass  through  life  with- 
out occasional  misgivings  as  to  their  spiritual 
state.  There  are  times  when  conscience  speaks 


62  SELF-IGNORANCE. 

out  even  to  the  most  careless  ear,  and  passing 
visitations  of  anxiety  as  to  the  soul  and  its  des- 
tiny trouble  the  most  callous  heart.  Amidst  the 
superficial  cares  and  pleasures  of  a  worldly  ex- 
istence a  man's  deeper  nature  may  slumber  ;  the 
surface-ripple  of  the  stream  of  common  life  may 
fill  the  sense  and  lull  the  soul  to  sleep,  but  to 
almost  every  one  there  come  occasions  when  the 
smooth  current  of  the  life  of  sense  is  interrupted, 
and  his  true  self  is  roused  to  a  temporary  wake- 
fulness.  In  the  stillness  of  ,the  lonely  sickbed, 
amidst  worldly  reverses,  in  declining  health,  or 
under  bitter  bereavement,  when  we  stand  by  the 
bier,  or  bend  over  the  closing  grave  of  old 
friends  and  coevals — in  such  passages  of  man's 
history,  the  soul,  eternity,  God,  become  for  the 
moment  real  things,  and  the  most  thoughtless 
and  worldly-minded  is  forced  to  pause  and  think. 
Or,  again,  when  the  sinful  man  listens  to  some 
very  earnest  exhibition  of  divine  truth,  or  is 
brought  into  contact  with  one  who  is  living  a 
very  holy,  pure,  unselfish  life,  a  painful  impres- 
sion of  his  own  deficiencies — a  transient  glimpse 
of  a  nobler,  purer  ideal  of  life,  to  which  his  own 


SELF-IGNORANCE.  03 

presents  a  miserable  contrast — may  visit  his 
mind.  But  such  thoughts  are  too  distressing  to 
be  long  dwelt  upon.  Very  rarely  have  men  the 
resolution  voluntarily  to  arrest  and  detain  them 
before  the  mind's  eye.  We  do  not  like  to  have 
the  easy  tranquillity  of  our  life  disturbed  by 
spiritual  anxieties.  We  do  not  care  to  have  our 
self-complacency  hurt  by  the  repulsive  spectacle 
of  our  proper  selves  :  and,  as  the  fair  face  on 
which  disease  has  left  its  ugly  seams,  turns  with 
pain  from  the  first  sight  of  the  reality  which  the 
mirror  reveals,  so  the  mind  hastens  to  avert  its 
view  from  the  too  faithful  reflection  of  self 
which  an  awakened  conscience  presents.  In- 
stead of  seeking  true  comfort  by  the  steady, 
however  painful,  contemplation,  and  then,  through 
God's  grace,  by  the  deliberate,  persevering  cor- 
rection of  its  evil  self,  the  mind  too  often  seeks 
a  speedier,  but  most  unreal  satisfaction,  by  for- 
getting its  convictions,  and  seeing  itself  only  in 
the  false  glass  of  the  world's  opinions.  Thus, 
with  many,  life  is  but  a  continuous  endeavour 
to  forget  and  keep  out  of  sight  their  true  selves 
vain  eluding  and  outstripping  of  a  reality 


64  SELF-IGNORANCE. 

which  is  still  ever  with  them,  and  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  which  they  must  one  day  awake. 
Often,  however,  it  is  an  endeavor  attended  only 
with  partial  success.  Deep  down,  in  the  most 
worldly  and  careless  mind,  there  is  often  a  hid- 
den restlessness,  an  uneasy  disquieting  con- 
sciousness, as  of  an  evil  half  realised,  and  which 
it  would  fain,  but  cannot  forget.  Inadequate  to 
produce  any  serious  reformation,  the  convictions 
of  conscience  yet  remain  as  a  latent  foreboding — 
a  vague  sense  of  a  debt  undischarged,  and  still 
hanging  over  us — a  disease  uncured  and  secretly 
working  within  us.  Refusing  to  know  himself, 
the  man  is  often  far  from  happy  in  his  forget- 
fulness.  His  brightest  hours  are  overshadowed 
as  by  the  vague  sense  of  a  coming  danger. 
There  is  a  feverishness  and  unreality  in  all  his 
joys ;  and  the  nearest  approach  to  happiness  he 
attains  is  but,  after  all,  as  the  wretched  enjoy- 
ment of  the  poor  spendthrift,  who  revels  on  for 
a  little  hour  in  unreal  splendor,  rather  than  be 
at  the  pains  to  examine  into  his  embarrassed  af- 
fairs ;  or  of  the  hapless  wretch  in  the  sinking 
ship,  who  drives  away  by  intoxication  the  sense, 


SELF-IGNORANCE.  65 

but  only  thereby  unfits  himself  the  more  to  en- 
counter the  reality,  of  danger. 

III.  Again,  the  self-ignorance  of  the  sinful 
may  be  accounted  for  by  the  sloiu  and  gradual 
way  in  ivhich,  in  most  cases,  sinful  habits  and  dis- 
positions are  acquired. 

Apart  from  any  other  consideration,  there  is 
something  in  the  mere  fact  of  the  gradual  and 
insidious  way  in  which  changes  of  character 
generally  take  place,  that  tends  to  blind  men  to 
their  own  defects.  For  every  one  knows  how 
unconscious  we  often  are  of  changes  that  occur 
by  minute  and  slow  degrees.  If,  for  instance, 
the  transitions  from  one  season  of  the  year  to 
another  were  more  sudden  and  rapid,  our  atten- 
tion would  be  much  more  forcibly  arrested  by 
their  occurrence  than  it  now  is.  But  because 
we  are  not  plunged  from  midsummer  into  win- 
ter— because,  in  the  declining  year,  one  day  is 
so  like  the  day  that  preceded  it,  the  daylight 
hours  contract  so  insensibly,  the  chilly  feeling 
infuses  itself  by  such  slight  increases  into  the 
air,  the  yellow  tint  creeps  so  gradually  over  the 
foliage — because  autumn  thus  frequently  softens 


66  SELF-IGNORANCE. 

and  shades  away  into  winter  by  gradations  so 
gentle  we  scarcely  perceive  while  it  is  going  on 
the  change  which  has  passed  over  the  face  of 
nature.  So,  again,  how  imperceptibly  do  life's 
advancing  stages  steal  upon  us  ?  If  we  leapt  at 
once  from  boyhood  into  manhood,  or  if  we  lay 
down  at  night  with  the  consciousness  of  man- 
hood's bloom  and  vigor,  and  waked  in  the  morning 
to  find  ourselves  gray-haired,  worn  and  withered 
old  men,  we  could  not  choose  but  be  arrested  by 
transitions  so  marked.  But  now,  because  to-day 
you  are  very  much  the  same  man  as  yesterday — 
because,  with  the  silent  growth  of  the  stature, 
the  graver  cares,  and  interests,  and  responsibili- 
ties of  life  so  gradually  gather  around  you ;  and 
then,  when  you  reach  the  turning  point  and  be- 
gin to  descend,  because  this  year  the  blood  cir- 
culates but  a  very  little  less  freely,  and  but  a 
few  more  and  deeper  lines  are  gathering  on  the 
face,  than  in  the  last ;  because  old  associations 
are  not  suddenly  broken  up,  but  only  unwound 
thread  by  thread,  and  old  forms  and  faces  are 
not  swept  away  all  at  once  by  some  sudden  ca- 
tastrophe, but  only  drop  out  of  sight  one  by 


SELF-IGNOKANCE.  67 

one — you  are  not  struck,  you  are  not  forced  to 
think  of  life's  decline,  and  almost  unawares  }rou 
may  not  be  far  off  from  its  close. 

Now,  if  we  know  that  changes  such  as  these  in 
the  natural  world  and  in  our  own  persons  take 
place  imperceptibly,  may  not  this  prepare  us  to 
admit,  that  analogous  changes,  equally  unnoted, 
because  equally  slow  and  gradual,  may  be 
occurring  in  our  moral  character,  in  the  state 
of  our  souls  before  God?  And  with  many  I 
maintain  that  it  is  actually  so.  There  is  a 
winter  of  the  soul,  a  spiritual  decrepitude  and 
death,  to  which  many  are  advancing,  at  which 
many  have  already  arrived,  yet  all  unconscious- 
ly, because  by  minute  and  inappreciable  grada- 
tions. For  character  is  a  thing  of  slow  forma- 
tion. Seldom  or  never  does  the  soul  reach  its 
mature  and  consolidated  state  by  broadly- 
marked  and  rapid  transitions.  The  incidents 
of  each  passing  day  help,  by  minute  touches,  to 
mould  it.  The  successive  changes  of  our  out- 
ward life  leave  each  their  little  deposit  behind, 
though  it  may  be  long  before  the  formation  be- 
comes of  noticeable  dimensions.  Every  passing 


68  SELF-IGNORANCE. 

breath  of  moral  influence  shakes  and  sways  the 
stem  of  our  being,  but  it  may  be  many  a  day  ere, 
by  the  bent  acquired  in  one  particular  direction, 
we  can  mark  the  prevailing  wind.  Differing 
as  we  all  do  from  each  other,  perhaps  as  much 
in  our  individual  characters  as  in  the  form  and 
expression  of  our  outward  features,  we  did  not 
issue,  each  with  his  own  separate  stamp  of  char- 
acter full  formed,  from  Nature's  mintage ;  and 
in  the  case  of  the  irreligious  and  sinful,  it  has 
been  by  the  slow  and  plastic  hand  of  time,  that 
the  natural  evil  of  man's  being  has  been 
moulded  into  the  manifold  forms  and  aspects 
which  their  characters  now  exhibit.  A  charac- 
ter of  confirmed  selfishness,  or  covetousness, 
or  sensuality,  or  harshness  and  irascibility,  or 
hardened  worldliness  and  unspirituality— what- 
ever may  be  the  special  type  of  character  in 
any  one  here,  it  never  was  formed  in  a  day,  or 
by  a  few  strokes  upon  the  raw  material  of 
mind.  On  the  contrary,  it  has  been  by  many  a 
small  sin,  by  innumerable  minute  tamperings 
with  conscience,  by  a  thousand  insignificant 
sacrifices  of  principle  to  passion,  of  duty  to  in- 


SELF-IGNORANCE.  69 

clination — by  multiplicity  of  little  fits  of  anger 
and  unnoted  acts  of  sensual  indulgence — it 
has  been,  by  a  long  series  and  succession  of 
such  experiences  as  these,  that  many  a  man's 
moral  being  has  been  fashioned  into  the  shape 
it  wears.  The  change  for  the  worse,  though  on 
the  whole,  and  to  other  observers,  very  marked, 
has  been  from  day  to  day  slight  and  inapprecia- 
ble ;  so  that  not  only  the  worldly,  the  careless, 
the  unspiritual,  but  even  the  openly  wicked  and 
abandoned,  have  often  a  comparatively  slight 
and  imperfect  sense  of  that  evil  in  them  which 
has  grown,  and  deepened,  and  darkened,  shade 
by  shade.  The  most  hardened  and  shameless 
profligate,  had  he  reached  his  present  maturity 
in  sin  by  a  single  stride,  would  probably  be  as 
much  horrified  at  the  change,  as  if  the  merry 
innocent  face  and  clear  bright  eye  of  his  child- 
hood had  been  transformed,  in  a  single  day, 
into  the  bloated  aspect  and  suspicious  scowl  of 
guilt.  But  just  as  men  note  not  the  lines  of  de- 
formity, settling  day  by  day  over  the  countenance, 
so  neither  do  they  discern  the  lineaments  of  moral 
repulsiveness  daily  deepening  into  the  soul. 


70  SELF-IGNORANCE. 

IY.  It  tends  greatly  to  increase  this  insensi- 
bility to  the  progress  of  sin  in  the  soul,  that,  as 
character  gradually  deteriorates,  there  is  a  par- 
allel deterioration  of  the  standard  ly  which  we 
judge  of  it.  As  sin  grows,  conscience  declines 
in  vigor.  The  power  that  perceives  sin  par- 
takes of  the  general  injury  which  sin  inflicts  on 
the  soul.  It  does  not  remain  stationary  while 
the  other  elements  of  our  being — the  desires, 
affections,  moral  energies — are  in  downward 
motion.  It  does  not  resemble  a  spectator  stand- 
ing on  the  shore,  who  can  discern  the  slightest 
motion  of  the  vessel  in  the  stream,  but  rather  to 
the  other  powers  conscience  stands  in  the  rela- 
tion of  a  fellow-voyager,  who  cannot  perceive  in 
his  companions  the  motion  of  which  himself  par- 
takes. Or,  as  in  fever  arid  other  diseases  that 
affect  the  brain,  the  disease  soon  unhinges  the 
power  by  which  the  patient  is  made  conscious 
of  its  ravages  ;  so  sin  is  a  malady  which  cannot 
proceed  far  without  injuring  the  moral  conscious- 
ness by  which  its  presence  can  be  known.  Even 
to  the  natural  conscience,  weak  and  unenlight- 
ened though  it  be,  sin,  in  many  of  its  forms,  has 


SELF-IGNORANCE.  71 

an  ugly  look  at  first,  but  its  repulsiveness  rap- 
idly wears  off  by  familiarity.  To  the  call  of 
duty,  the  voice  of  religion,  the  first  announce- 
ment of  the  solemn  truths  of  death  and  judg- 
ment and  retribution,  the  mind  even  in  its  nat- 
ural and  unrenewed  state,  can  never  be  alto- 
gether insensible ;  but,  if  unregarded,  the  im- 
pression soon  fades,  and  the  solemn  sounds  grow 
fainter  and  fainter  to  the  ear.  By  every  act  of 
disobedience  to  its  dictates  we  sin  away  some- 
thing of  the  sensitiveness  of  conscience  ;  and  it 
is  quite  possible  for  the  process  of  disobedience 
to  go  on  until  even  from  the  grossest  sins  all  the 
first  recoil  of  dislike  is  gone,  and  to  the  voice  of 
warning  and  instruction  there  rises  not  the 
faintest  echo  of  compunction  in  the  soul.  Just, 
as  in  winter,  the  cold  may  become  so  intense  as 
to  freeze  the  thermometer,  and  thereby  to  leave 
you  without  the  means  of  marking  the  subse- 
quent increases  of  cold,  so  there  is  a  point  in  the 
lowered  temperature  of  the  inward  conscious- 
ness where  the  growing  coldness,  hardness,  sel- 
fishness of  a  man's  nature  can  no  longer  be 
noted — the  mechanism  by  which  moral  varia- 


72  SELF-IGNORANCE. 

tions  are  indicated  becoming  itself  insensible  and 
motionless.  And  then — then  in  an  awful  sense — 
does  his  sin  become  a  hidden  thing  to  the  sin- 
ner ;  then  is  attained  a  dreadful  freedom,  an 
ominous  emancipation  from  all  restraint.  The 
soul  has  reached  that  condition  in  which  it  can 
sin  on  unchecked,  contracting  a  daily  accumulat- 
ing debt  of  guilt,  yet  all  unconsciously, — inflict- 
ing deeper  and  more  incurable  wounds  upon  it- 
self, yet  without  pain, — heaping  up  without  re- 
monstrance, wrath  against  the  day  of  wrath.  No 
matter  how  rapid  its  fatal  descent,  no  warning 
voice  can  retard  it  now  ;  no  matter  how  terrible 
the  ruin  before  it,  no  prognostic  of  danger  can 
startle  it  now.  "  The  light  that  wras  in  it"  has 
become  "  darkness,  and  how  great  is  that  dark- 
ness !" 

Such,  then,  are  some  of  the  ways  in  which 
sin  effects  its  own  concealment.  And  surely,  if 
it  is  possible  that  any  one  who  now  hears  me  is 
in  the  condition  I  have  attempted  to  describe,  it 
will  need  few  words  to  set  before  him  its  guilt 
and  danger;  its  guilt, — for  let  no  man  flatter 


SELF-IGNO  RANGE.  73 

himself  that  unconsciousness  of  sin  divests  any 
act  of  its  culpability,  or  even  of  necessity  extenu- 
ates the  fault  of  the  transgressor.  Voluntary 
ignorance,  so  far  from  being  a  palliation,  is  only 
an  aggravation  of  the  offence.  He  who  willingly 
extinguishes  the  light  escapes  not  the  conse- 
quences of  the  errors  to  which  darkness  leads. 
The  drunkard,  who  prepares  for  crime  by  first 
heating  his  brain  to  madness,  is  not  therefore 
treated  as  if  he  were  naturally  irresponsible. 
And  to  have  evaded  the  light  of  conscience,  or 
persisted  in  sin  till  the  light  of  conscience  dies 
out,  instead  of  palliating  ulterior  acts  of  guilt,  is 
itself  one  of  the  greatest  that  can  be  committed. 
No  !  he  who  never  knew  and  could  not  know, 
God's  will,  may  honestly  offer  the  plea  of  igno- 
rance ;  but  the  wilful  ignorance  of  hardened  in- 
sensibility is  at  once  .a  grievous  aggravation  of 
the  offence  and  its  most  awful  punishment. 

And  the  danger  of  self-ignorance  is  not  less 
than  its  guilt.  For  of  all  evils  a  secret  evil  is 
most  to  be  deprecated,  —  of  all  enemies  a  con- 
cealed enemy  is  the  worst.  Better  the  precipice 
than  the  pitfall  ;  better  the  tortures  of  curable 


Caird. 


74  SELF- IGNORANCE. 

disease  than  the  painlessness  of  mortification ; 
and  so,  whatever  your  soul's  guilt  and  danger, 
better  to  be  aware  of  it.  However  alarming, 
however  distressing,  self-knowledge  may  be, 
better  that  than  the  tremendous  evils  of  self- 
ignorance. 

If  indeed  there  were  any  possibility  of  your 
state  being  beyond  hope  or  help,  if  your  sin  were 
irremediable,  and  your  doom  inevitable,  then 
might  you  be  excused  for  refraining  from  all 
inquiry, — then  might  further  remonstrance  be 
cruelty,  not  kindness.  The  dying  man  need  not 
be  tormented  with  useless  remedies.  The  doomed 
felon  may  be  let  alone,  to  pass  quietly  the  in- 
terval till  his  execution.  But  it  is  not  so  with 
you.  No  man  here  need,  by  himself  or  others, 
be  given  up  for  lost.  No  living  soul  is  beyond 
the  reach  of  remedy.  You  need  not  shrink  from 
laying  bare  the  sore,  however  hideous — from 
probing  the  wound  of  the  soul  to  the  quick, 
however  painful  the  process,  as  if  it  were  all  in 
vain.  Far  less  need  you  "heal  your  hurt 
slightly,"  or  seek  from  false  remedies  a  super- 
ficial peace,  when,  for  each  and  all,  the  sove- 


SELF-IGNORANCE.  75 

reign  specific,  the  divine  Healer,  is  at  hand. 
"  There  is  balm  in  Gilead ;  there  is  a  Physician 
there."  No  case  beyond  His  intervention;  no 
soul  so  far  gone  in  sin  as  to  baffle  His  skill. 
Open  your  whole  heart  to  Jesus.  Tell  Him  all 
your  case.  Confess  at  His  feet  every  hidden 
grief,  every  secret  sorrow,  every  untold  guilty 
fear.  He  is  ready  to  hear  and  help ;  He  is  in- 
finitely able  to  save  unto  the  uttermost  all  that 
come  unto  Him.  At  the  last  extremity,  spir- 
itual life  and  death  trembling  in  the  balance, 
call  Him  in ;  lay  open  your  soul  to  His  inspec- 
tion ;  cast  yourself  in  confiding  love  on  His  all- 
sufficient  aid,  and  your  recovery  is  sure. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  indolence  or  indif- 
ference prevail,  and  you  refuse  to  know  your 
danger,  and  to  seek  the  Saviour's  proffered  aid, 
reflect,  I  beseech  you,  that  a  time  is  approach- 
ing when  self-knowledge  shall  be  no  longer  a 
matter  of  choice.  It  is  possible  now  to  exclude 
the  light;  but  a  light  is  soon  to  dawn  that, 
whether  we  will  or  no,  shall  pierce  to  the  hidden 
depths  of  every  heart,  and  lay  bare  the  soul  at 
once  to  the  eye  of  Omniscience  and  to  its  own. 


76  SELF-IGNOKANCE. 

It  is  possible  now  to  seek  the  peace  of  self-for- 
getfulness, — to  refuse  to  be  disturbed, — to  sink 
for  a  little  longer  into  our  dream  of  self-satisfac- 
tion ;  but  it  is  a  peace  as  transient  as  it  is  un- 
real. Soon,  at  the  latest,  and  all  the  more  ter- 
rible for  the  delay,  the  awakening  must  come. 
There  are  sometimes  sad  awakenings  from  sleep 
in  this  world.  It  is  very  sad  to  dream  by  night 
of  vanished  joys, — to  revisit  old  scenes,  and 
dwell  once  more  among  the  unforgotten  forms  of 
our  loved  and  lost, — to  see  in  the  dreamland  the 
old  familiar  look,  and  hear  the  well-remembered 
tones  of  a  voice  long  hushed  and  still,  and  then 
to  wake,  with  the  morning  light,  to  the  aching 
sense  of  our  loneliness  again.  It  were  very  sad 
for  the  poor  criminal  to  wake  from  sweet  dreams 
of  other  and  happier  days — days  of  innocence, 
and  hope,  and  peace,  when  kind  friends,  and  a 
happy  home,  and  an  honored  or  unstained  name 
were  his, — to  wake  in  his  cell,  on  the  morning 
of  his  execution,  to  the  horrible  recollection  that 
all  this  is  gone  for  ever,  and  that  to-day  he  must 
die  a  felon's  death.  But  inconceivably  more 
awful  than  any  awakening  which  earthly  day- 


SELF-IGNORANCE.  77 

break  has  ever  brought  shall  be  the  awakening 
of  the  self-deluded  soul  when  it  is  roused  in 
horror  and  surprise  from  the  dream  of  life — to 
meet  Almighty  God  in  judgment ! 


ritual    Influence. 


"Marvel  not  that  I  said  unto  thee,  Ye  must  be  born  again.  The 
wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and  thou  hearest  the  sound 
thereof,  but  canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh,  and  whither  it 
goeth  :  so  is  every  one  that  is  born  of  the  Spirit." 

JOHN,  iii.  7,  8. 

TTT  n        "^HE  cnange  °f  which  our  Lord 
bMM.  111.]  .    . 

here  speaks  is  not,  as  his  incredu- 

lous auditor  at  first  supposed,  a  physical 
one  ;  yet  is  it  one  which,  in  some  respects, 
implies  a  revolution  in  man's  being  as  great 
as  if  the  strange  fancy  of  Nicodemus  had  been 
literally  true.  Marvellous  though  it  would 
be  for  the  old  man  to  become  a  little  child 
again  —  for  one  surrounded  with  the  cares  and 
responsibilities  of  manhood,  or  sinking  into  the 
feebleness  of  age  —  to  feel  the  shadow  on  the 
sundial  of  life  going  back,  and  the  light  of  life's 
morning  once  more  shining  around  him  ;  yet 
might  such  a  return  from  the  maturity  or  de- 
cline to  the  infancy  of  man's  outward  life  involve 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  79 

nothing  so  wonderful  as  the  entering  upon  a  new 
spiritual  history — the  second  birth  of  the  soul. 
Could  we  for  a  moment  entertain  the  supposition 
that  some  one  here  who  is  now  far  advanced  in 
life,  had  this  day  become  conscious,  as  if  by 
some  mysterious  spell  passing  over  him,  that  a 
new  freshness  was  beginning  to  be  infused  into 
the  springs  of  his  physical  life,  that  the  form 
and  features  on  which  Time's  impress  had  un- 
mistakably been  set,  were  being  moulded  anew 
into  the  roundness  and  softness  of  childhood, 
and  the  worn  and  withered  man  was  by  some 
strange  influence,  transformed  again  into  the 
bright  and  buoyant  creature  of  days  long  by- 
gone,— yet  even  then,  I  repeat,  extravagant  and 
incredible  as  such  a  conception  seems,  we  should 
have  before  us  a  transformation  not  at  all  so 
wonderful,  so  momentous,  as  that  of  which  the 
text  affirms  the  possibility.  For  it  speaks,  not 
of  the  re-construction  of  the  outward  form,  but 
of  the  re-creating  of  the  inward  life ;  not  of  a 
mere  external  metamorphosis,  but  of  an  inner 
and  vital  change.  And  it  cannot  be  doubted 
that  mental  and  moral  changes  are  far  more 


80  SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE. 

momentous  than  physical ;  that  a  transformation 
of  soul  would  revolutionise  a  man's  being  far 
more  completely  than  a  mere  modification  of 
bodily  form  and  feature.  The  soul  is  the  true 
essence  of  man's  nature.  The  character,  spirit, 
moral  temper  of  the  inner  being  constitutes  the 
man,  and  everything  else  is  outward  and  inci- 
dental. The  physical  form  and  life,  amidst  a 
thousand  changes,  may  leave  the  real  man  un- 
altered, or  as  little  changed  as  the  inhabitant  by 
the  re-construction  of  the  house,  or  the  person 
by  the  new  making  of  the  vesture  that  clothes 
it.  Too  early  experience  of  life  may  force  the 
mind  into  a  premature  exhaustion,  so  that  be- 
neath a  youthful  form  there  may  be  the  old 
man's  spirit ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are 
instances  in  which,  by  the  tempered  use  of 
strong  vital  energies,  an  old  man  has  preserved 
to  the  last  a  youthful  elastic  spirit  in  the  worn 
form  of  age.  But  in  all  cases,  what  the  spirit  is, 
that  the  man  may  truly  be  said  to  be.  To  re- 
gain, therefore,  the  child's  form,  would  be  but  a 
slight  transmutation  compared  with  regaining 
the  child-heart*  and  though  the  form  and  aspect 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  81 

of  maturity  or  age  remain  without  the  slightest 
modification,  yet  if  there  be  the  birth  of  a  new 
spirit-life,  the  revival  of  a  childlike  heart  and 
soul  in  the  hidden  depths  of  man's  being,  then 
is  the  change  more  marvellous,  more  momentous, 
than  if  the  old  man  could  in  very  deed  go  back 
and  enter  life  anew. 

Now,  it  is  this  inward  change,  this  recom- 
mencement of  the  inner  history,  which  every 
soul  experiences  that  passes  under  the  plastic 
touch  of  the  Spirit  of  God.  It  is  no  fanciful 
notion  which  the  Scripture  teaches  when  it  de- 
clares of  believers  that,  "  laying  aside  all  malice, 
guile,  hypocrisies,  envies" — all  the  unhallowed 
and  sophisticated  tastes  and  habits  of  their  false 
manhood — "  they,  as  new-born  babes,  desire  the 
sincere  milk  of  the  word,  that  they  may  grow 
thereby ;"  or,  in  other  words,  that  the  simple 
desires  and  tastes  of  a  little  child,  in  a  sense, 
rise  again  within  their  hearts.  For  in  the  soul 
that  begins  in  real  earnest  to  be  devoted  to  God, 
there  will  be  felt  by  degrees  the  awakening  of 
a  new  and  diviner  life.  A  joy  more  sparkling 
than  the  joy  of  infancy,  yet  deeper,  more  en- 

4* 


82  SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE. 

during  far,  will  steal  upon  it.  There  will  be  a 
new  meaning  in  life  to  the  quickened  vision  of 
the  new-born  soul.  A  new  and  more  glorious 
aspect  will  gradually  dawn  upon  the  world,  and 
outward  objects  and  events  will  be  invested  with 
a  novelty  and  vividness  of  interest  akin  to  that 
of  the  happy  time  when,  to  the  wondering  gaze 
of  childhood,  all  things  were  yet  fresh  and  new. 
Within  the  heart,  too,  of  the  believer,  there  will 
rise,  by  degrees,  a  calm,  unanxious  trustfulness, 
a  certain  self-forgetfulness  and  freedom  from 
worldly  care,  analogous  to  the  unconscious  and 
unquestioning  reliance  of  a  little  child  on  the 
father's  ability  to  provide  for  its  needs.  In  one 
word,  let  the  soul  be  visited  by  the  renewing  in- 
fluence of  the  Spirit  of  God,  and  sooner  or  later 
there  will  be  manifest  in  it  the  signs  of  a  new 
and  more  glorious  infancy — a  reproduction  of  all 
the  more  attractive  qualities  of  childhood,  yet 
purer,  nobler  far  than  they,  as  the  life  of  spirit 
is  more  glorious  than  the  life  of  sense. 

Such,  then,  is  the  transformation  of  man's 
being,  the  necessity  of  which  our  Lord  an- 
nounced to  the  wondering  Nicodemus  in  the 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  83 

words,  "  Ye  must  be  born  again."  And  if  the 
idea  of  a  second  birth  seemed  so  strange  and 
wonderful  to  the  man  who  understood  literally 
our  Saviour's  language,  not  less  marvellous 
would  it  appear  to  the  mind  that  could  attach 
to  the  words  their  true  and  spiritual  import. 
But  you  perceive  that,  in  order  to  obviate  the 
difficulties  to  which  the  announcement  of  this 
mysterious  doctrine  had  given  rise  in  the  mind 
of  his  auditor,  our  Lord  proceeds,  in  the  text,  to 
suggest  to  him  what  may  be  called  a  simple 
argument  from  analogy.  With  infinite  conde- 
scension, the  divine  Teacher  endeavors  to  re- 
move the  incredulity  of  the  inquirer,  by  di- 
recting his  mind  to  certain  phenomena  in  the 
natural  world,  equally  real,  yet  equally  myste- 
rious and  inexplicable,  with  the  spiritual  change 
of  which  He  had  spoken.  He  bids  the  startled 
listener  look  around  him,  and  see,  in  the  sim- 
plest and  most  familiar  facts  and  occurrences  in 
nature,  the  evidence  of  powers  and  processes  as 
inscrutable  as  are  involved  in  the  doctrine  of  the 
soul's  second  birth.  "  Marvel  not  that  I  said 
unto  thee,  Ye  must  be  born  again," — every  pass- 


84  SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE. 

ing  breeze  contains  the  intimation  of  a  mystery 
as  great  as  this, — "  The  wind  bloweth  where  it 
listeth,  and  thou  hearest  the  sound  thereof,  yet 
canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh  and  whither  it 
goeth  :  so  is  every  one  that  is  born  of  the 
Spirit." 

The  argument  of  the  text,  then,  is  derived 
from  the  existence  of  parallel  difficulties  in  Na- 
ture and  Revelation.  Let  us  endeavor  to  follow 
out  this  argument  a  little  further,  with  the  view 
of  obviating  certain  objections  to  the  doctrine  of 
Regeneration.  The  difficulties  connected  with 
the  regenerating  operation  of  the  Spirit  of  God, 
to  which  the  illustration  of  the  text  may  be  re- 
garded as  pointing,  are  these  three,  its  Super- 
naturalness,  its  Sovereignty  or  apparent  Arbitrari- 
ness, and  its  Secrecy.  It  is  perhaps  to  the  last 
of  these  points  that  the  argument,  in  strict  accu- 
racy, should  be  confined,  but  the  analogy  holds 
not  less  obviously  in  respect  to  the  other  two. 

I.  In  not  a  few  minds  there  is  a  certain 
shrinking  from  the  supernatural,  which  renders 
such  doctrines  as  that  of  the  text  peculiarly  dis- 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  85 

tasteful  and  difficult  of  reception.  If,  for  the 
ignorant  and  superstitious,  the  invisible  world 
possess  a  strange  attraction,  disposing  the  mind 
often  to  ascribe  natural  events  to  supernatural 
agencies,  and  to  call  in,  on  the  most  common  oc- 
casions, the  interposition  of  unseen  and  myste- 
rious powers,  there  is  an  opposite  class  of  minds 
in  which  the  tendency  is  equally  strong  to  ex- 
plain everything  by  natural  causes,  and  to  ex- 
clude as  much  as  possible  the  thought  of  any 
other  than  known  and  familiar  agents. 

Ignorance  may  indeed  be  the  mother  of  a 
spurious  devotion,  but  there  is  a  practical  scep- 
ticism more  to  be  deprecated,  of  which  self- 
sufficient  knowledge  is  often  the  parent.  It 
may  be  the  tendency  of  the  religion  of  an  un- 
enlightened age  to  translate  every  unexplained 
fact  or  phenomenon  into  the  intermediate  inter- 
position of  the  Deity.  The  poor  savage  hears 
a  wrathful  voice  in  every  storm,  and  trembles 
as  at  the  presence  of  a  retributive  power,  when 
the  portentous  shadow  crosses  the  sun's  disc, 
or  the  white  lightning  quivers  athwart  the 
heavens.  The  ignorant  mind  creates  out  of  its 


86  SPIRITUAL    INFLUENCE. 

own  terrors,  in  dreams,  and  impressions,  and 
fluctuating  moods,  direct  intimations  of  the 
divine  presence  and  will.  But  as  society  ad- 
vances in  knowledge,  and  as  many  of  those 
events,  formerly  attributed  to  supernatural  agen- 
cy, are  discovered  to  be  the  result  of  natural 
causes,  it  too  often  happens  that,  with  the  su- 
perstitious recognition,  all  practical  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  divine  presence  and  agency  is  lost. 
Accustomed  to  the  observation  of  natural  causes 
at  work  around  them,  men  cease  to  think  of 
any  other.  The  tendency  becomes  habitual  to 
refer  everything  to  the  laws  of  nature,  and  to 
imagine  that,  when  we  have  specified  the  out- 
ward and  physical  causes  of  any  phenomenon, 
we  have  completely  accounted  for  it.  The 
voice  of  God  is  no  longer  heard  in  the  thunder 
when  the  laws  of  electricity  begin  to  be  known. 
In  the  darkened  luminary  there  is  no  shadow 
of  the  Almighty's  wing  to  the  observer  who 
can  calmly  sit  down  and  calculate  the  period 
and  duration  of  the  solar  eclipse.  The  region 
of  marvels  is  thus  driven  further  and  further 
back,  but  the  territory  lost  to  Superstition  is 


SPIRIT  UAL    INFLUENCE.  87 

seldom  won  for  Religion.  The  old  gods  of 
heathenism  have  long  vanished  from  the  woods 
and  meadows  and  fountains  ;  but  it  is  not  that 
the  one  living  and  true  God,  but  only  gravita- 
tion, light,  heat,  magnetism,  may  be  recognised 
as  reigning  in  their  forsaken  haunts.  And  we 
carry  the  same  tendency  into  the  moral  world. 
The  outward  agents  in  moral  and  spiritual 
changes  are  those  on  which  we  chiefly  dwell. 
The  power  of  motives,  the  influence  of  educa- 
tion, the  natural  efficacy  of  instructions,  ap- 
peals, admonitions,  warnings — it  is  to  these 
almost  exclusively,  and  not  to  any  direct  opera- 
tion of  the  Spirit  of  God,  that  we  are  apt  to 
trace  changes  of  character.  We  may  be  ready, 
indeed,  decorously  to  remark,  that  no  good  can 
be  done  without  the  blessing  of  God,  but  we 
seldom  realise  the  true  significance  of  this  state- 
ment. The  interposition  of  a  divine  agent  in 
every  instance  of  moral  improvement  may  not 
be  denied  or  controverted,  but  it  is  too  often 
practically  ignored.  A  child  grows  up  gentle, 
amiable,  pious;  and  when  we  say  that  he  had 
the  benefit  of  a  careful  and  religious  education, 


88  SPIRITUAL    INFLUENCE. 

we  seem  to  ourselves  to  have  given  the  whole 
account  of  the  matter.  A  careless  youth  devel- 
ops into  a  thoughtful  and  serious  manhood,  and 
we  remark  on  the  sobering  and  mellowing  effect 
of  years.  An  irreligious  man  becomes  devout, 
and  the  dangerous  illness,  or  the  severe  domes- 
tic affliction,  or  the  influence  of  a  Christian 
friend  or  minister,  has  made  him,  we  perhaps 
observe,  a  wiser  and  a  better  man.  Seldom 
does  the  mind  naturally  turn  to  the  thought — 
"  the  finger  of  God  is  here ;"  to  many  it  would 
seem  fanatical  or  irrational  thus  to  speak.  The 
idea  of  a  mysterious  Holy  Spirit  coming  down 
from  the  heavens,  and  working  in  the  man's 
mind,  would  but  too  often  be  regarded,  if  not 
avowedly,  yet  in  our  secret  judgment,  as  a 
strange  mystical  notion  peculiar  to  the  domain 
of  theology,  but  quite  apart  from  our  ordinary 
experience,  having  nothing  in  common  with  the 
plain  realities  of  e very-day  life. 

Now,  it  is  to  this  habit  of  mind,  this  tendency, 
tacit  or  avowed,  to  shrink  from  the  supernatural, 
that  the  text  suggests  a  most  striking  correct- 
ive. For  it  brings  before  us  the  consideration 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  89 

that  the  supernatural  is  not  confined  to  religion ; 
it  bids  us  look  abroad  upon  the  common  world 
of  sight  and  sense,  and  see  there,  in  the  most 
familiar  processes  and  phenomena  of  nature,  the 
proofs  of  an  immediate  divine  agency  as  myste- 
rious, as  inexplicable  to  man  as  any  to  which 
religion  appeals.  Not  in  the  dim  region  of  the- 
ological mysteries  alone,  but  amidst  the  sights 
and  sounds  of  every-day  life,  we  move  in  a 
world  of  wonders.  Not  spiritual  things  only, 
but  every  peeping  bud,  and  every  waving  leaf, 
each  glancing  sunbeam  and  glistening  dewdrop, 
the  passing  breeze,  the  falling  shower,  the  rip- 
pling stream,  imply  the  presence  of  a  mysteri- 
ous power  and  agency  ever  secretly  working 
around  us.  There  is  a  sense,  in  which  science, 
with  all  its  triumphs,  returns  to  the  creed  of 
the  world's  infancy,  and  is  compelled  to  admit 
the  immediate  presence  of  a  supernatural  power 
in  the  most  ordinary  movements  of  nature. 
For,  after  all,  not  the  most  splendid  revelations 
of  science  have  ever  been  able  to  disclose  any- 
thing more  than  the  regular  sequences  of 
events,  the  ways  in  which  the  Author  of  nature 


90  SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE. 

generally  chooses  to  work,  the  self-imposed  rules 
of  divine  agency. 

Gravitation,  light,  heat,  chemical  affinity,  are 
only  abstractions  ;  they  are  nothing  in  them- 
selves without  a  personal  will — a  living  agent, 
whose  mode  of  working  they  express.  Dead 
matter,  however  arranged,  can  never  act  of  it- 
self. Power,  spontaneous  activity,  can  never 
reside  in  dead  and  material  things  ;  it  can  dwell 
only  in  a  person,  a  living,  thinking,  willing  agent. 
A  human  mechanist  may  leave  the  machine  he 
has  constructed  to  work  without  his  further  per- 
sonal superintendence,  because  when  he  leaves 
it,  God's  laws  take  it  up,  and  by  their  aid  the 
materials  by  which  the  machine  is  made  retain 
their  solidity,  the  steel  continues  elastic,  the  va- 
por keeps  its  expansive  power.  But  when  God 
has  constructed  His  machine  of  the  universe, 
He  cannot  so  leave  it,  or  any  the  minutest  part 
of  it,  in  its  immensity  and  intricacy  of  move- 
ment, to  itself  5  for,  if  He  retire,  there  is  no 
second  God  to  take  care  of  this  machine.  Not 
from  a  single  atom  of  matter  can  He  who  made 
it  for  a  moment  withdraw  His  superintendence 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  91 

and  support.  Each  successive  moment,  all  over 
the  world,  the  act  of  creation  must  be  repeated. 
The  existence  of  the  world  witnesses  to  a  per- 
petuity of  creating  influence.  Active  omni- 
presence must  flood  the  universe,  or  its  machin- 
ery stops,  and  its  very  existence  terminates. 
The  signs  of  an  all-pervading  supernatural  en- 
ergy meet  us  wherever  we  turn.  Every  leaf 
waves  in  it,  every  plant  in  all  its  organic  pro- 
cesses lives  in  it ;  it  rolls  round  the  clouds,  else 
they  would  not  move  ;  it  fires  the  sunbeam,  else 
it  would  not  shine ;  and  there  is  not  a  wave  that 
restlessly  rises  and  sinks,  nor  a  whisper  of  the 
wanton  wind  that  "  bloweth  where  it  listeth," 
but  bespeaks  the  immediate  intervention  of  God. 
Marvel  not,  then,  when  it  is  said  that  we  must 
be  born  of  the  Spirit.  If  not  the  slightest  move- 
ment of  matter  can  take  place  without  the  im- 
mediate agency  of  God,  shall  we  wonder  that 
His  agency  is  needed  in  the  higher  and  more 
subtle  processes  of  mind  ?  If  every  echoing 
wind  bespeak  a  present  Deity,  shall  it  seem 
strange  to  appeal  to  His  power  in  the  regenera- 
tion of  a  soul  ?  Each  time  the  furrow  opens  to 


92  SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE. 

the  ploughshare,  or  the  sail  of  the  vessel  ex- 
pands to  the  breeze,  we  call  in  the  aid  of  a  mys- 
terious agency,  without  which  human  efforts 
were  vain.  Can  it  be  matter  of  surprise  that 
the  same  mysterious  agency  must  be  invoked  in 
every  effort  to  break  up  the  hardened  soil  of 
the  human  heart,  or  to  communicate  to  the  dull 
and  moveless  spirit  of  man  an  impulse  towards 
a  nobler  than  earthly  destiny  ? 

II.  The  Sovereignty i  or  apparent  Arbitrariness, 
of  the  work  of  the  Spirit  of  God  in  regenera- 
tion, is  another  of  those  difficulties  connected 
with  this  doctrine  to  which  the  illustration  of 
the  text  seems  to  point.  It  is  this  to  which  our 
Lord  seems  to  refer  when  he  compares  the  Spir- 
it's agency  to  that  of  the  wind  which  "  bloweth 
where  it  listeth"  that  is,  with  inexplicable  uncer- 
tainty and  variableness,  or  according  to  laws 
which  are  beyond  the  knowledge  and  control  of 
man. 

And  how  very  much,  to  human  eye,  have  the 
relations  of  God  with  man,  as  a  religious  being, 
been  characterised  by  an  aspect  of  strange  un- 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  93 

certainty  and  arbitrariness !  Religion,  with  its 
all  ennobling  influences,  has  not  been  communi- 
cated to  man  universally  or  indiscriminately. 
The  spirit  of  love  and  life  has  not  breathed  over 
every  sin-blighted  land  ;  but  while  a  few  fa- 
vored regions  have  felt  its  reviving  presence, 
and  have  begun  to  bloom  with  a  moral  beauty 
that  is  not  of  this  world,  others,  unvisited  by 
its  quickening  power,  remain  from  age  to  age  in 
the  condition  of  moral  wastes,  barren  as  the 
desert,  or  rife  only  with  weeds  and  thorns.  Nor 
can  human  research  discover  any  law  by  which 
this  inequality  is  ordered.  For  the  partial  dis- 
tribution of  spiritual  blessings  to  the  nations  we 
can  give  no  other  reason  than  the  inscrutable 
and  irresponsible  will  of  a  Benefactor  who  gives 
and  withholds  "  wheresoever  He  listeth." 

And  as  little  in  the  case  of  individuals  as  of 
nations  can  we  explain  on  what  principle  it  is 
that  the  gracious  influences  of  the  Spirit  are 
vouchsafed.  In  equal  possession  of  the  outward 
means  of  improvement  some  are  benefited  whilst 
others  continue  unaffected.  The  seed  of  truth 
springs  up  into  rapid  and  rich  maturity  in  one 


94  SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE. 

mind  ;  in  another,  on  which  perhaps  it  has  been 
more  profusely  scattered,  it  remains  dormant  and 
unproductive.  A  word  spoken  in  season,  the 
utterance  of  a  hallowed  name,  even  a  mere  look 
of  affectionate  remonstrance,  will  fly  straight  to 
the  core  of  some  human  spirit,  as  if  guided  by 
some  unerring  hand ;  whilst,  on  others,  all  the 
strength  of  reason,  all  the  force  of  logic,  all  the 
power  of  eloquence,  may  be  spent,  only  to  recoil 
ineffective  as  arrows  from  proof-mail.  From  the 
furnace  of  affliction  one  heart,  on  which  an  ir- 
resistible solvent  has  been  acting,  will  come  forth 
softened,  subdued,  spiritualised ;  whilst  others, 
from  the  superficial  tenderness  of  unblessed  sor- 
row, speedily  cool  down  into  a  hardness  and  in- 
sensibility more  hopeless  than  ever.  And  if  this 
diversity  of  results  is  to  be  ascribed,  not  to  the 
variety  of  outward  means,  but  to  the  presence 
or  absence  of  an  inward  influence  which  alone 
can  render  them  effectual,  can  we  tell  why  that 
influence,  given  in  one  case,  should  be  withheld 
in  any  other  ?  Is  the  hand  of  Jehovah  ever 
shortened  that  it  cannot  save  ?  Is  the  reservoir 
of  grace  so  scantily  supplied  that,  while  some 


SPIKITUAL     INFLUENCE.  95 

receive  the  precious  dole,  others  as  needy  must 
go  unrelieved  ?  Or  can  we  ascribe  to  Infinite 
Love  the  wayward  fitfulness  of  earthly  benefi- 
cence— to  Infinite  Wisdom  the  arbitrary  and 
unreasoning  favoritism  of  weak  and  erring  men  ? 
If  grace  be  necessary  to  conversion ;  if  without 
it  an  angel  of  heaven  might  preach  with  heav- 
en's eloquence,  yet  all  in  vain ;  and  with  it,  from 
the  appeals  of  feeble  human  lips  no  careless  au- 
ditor could  retire  unaffected,  why — are  we  not 
tempted  to  ask — is  not  the  Spirit  of  God  poured 
forth  without  measure  on  every  assembly  where 
unconverted  souls  are  to  be  found  ?  The  at- 
mosphere of  selfishness  broods  over  the  soul  and 
stifles  all  its  glorious  capacities  of  excellence. 
Oh,  why  is  there  not  an  instant  response  to  the 
call,  "  Awake,  0  north  wind !  and  come  thou 
south  !  breathe  upon  this  garden,  that  the  spices 
thereof  may  flow  forth?"  The  dead  in  sin — 
the  living,  lost,  never-dying  dead — bespread  the 
world,  a  spectacle  more  awful  than  in  the  pro- 
phet's vision ;  and  can  it  be  that  boundless 
Mercy  surveys  it,  and  yet  there  is  no  answer  to 
the  prayer,  "  Come  from  the  four  winds,  0 


96  SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE. 

breath  !  and  breathe  upon  these  dead  that  they 
may  live  ?" 

To  all  such  questions — the  not  unnatural  ex- 
pression of  the  mind's  anxiety  in  contemplating 
the  seeming  arbitrariness  of  the  Spirit's  work — 
we  must  again  reply  in  the  words  of  the  text — 
"  Marvel  not  that  it  is  said  unto  you,  Ye  must 
be  born  of  the  Spirit."  Marvel  not  nor  be  dis- 
quieted at  your  inability  to  explain  the  laws  that 
regulate  the  operations  of  an  infinite  Agent ;  for 
in  a  province  much  more  within  the  range  of  hu- 
man observation  there  are  familiar  agents  at 
work,  the  operations  of  which  are  equally  in- 
scrutable, arbitrary,  incalculable.  Think  it  not 
strange  that  the  ways  of  the  Spirit  of  God  are 
unaccountable  to  a  mind  by  which  even  the  com- 
mon phenomena  of  the  wind  are  irreducible  to 
law.  "  The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and 
thou  hearest  the  sound  thereof,  but  canst  not 
tell  whence  it  cometh,  and  whither  it  goeth ;  so  is 
every  one  that  is  born  of  the  Spirit." 

And  the  force  of  this  illustration  it  will  need 
little  reflection  to  perceive.  For  what  so  fitful, 
wayward,  incalculable,  as  the  operations  of  the 


SPIRITUAL    INFLUENCE.  97 

wind  ?  Who  can  for  a  single  hour  foresee,  or  with 
certainty  pronounce,  what  its  course  will  be? 
Sometimes  breathing  in  softness,  sometimes  rush- 
ing in  storm ;  now  gently  fanning  the  summer 
fields  or  wandering  with  scarcely  perceptible 
movement  over  the  vernal  earth  ;  anon  sweeping 
and  raging  along  with  the  wild  impetuosity  of 
the  winter  blast ;  leaving  one  spot  or  one  region 
of  the  earth  parched,  cloudless,  motionless;  for 
days  and  weeks  stirring  not  a  branch  or  leaf,  as 
it  hangs  droopingiy  in  the  dry  and  moveless  air, 
yet  at  the  same  time  bringing  to  other  regions 
the  fertilising  influences  of  refreshing  gales  and 
showers.  And  the  argument  is — If  even  this 
simple  agent  so  baffle  man's  highest  wisdom  to 
reduce  to  known  laws  its  seemingly  wayward 
movements,  shall  it  be  thought  strange  that  the 
ways  of  the  unsearchable  Spirit  of  God  are  gov- 
erned by  no  rules  which  finite  minds  can  dis- 
cern? If  a  phenomenon  which,  howrever  com- 
plex the  principles  or  intricate  the  conditions  in- 
volved in  it,  is  still  a  physical  and  limited  one, 
present  to  the  acutest  minds  a  problem  that  is 
insoluble,  what  wonder  that  they  should  be 

Caird.  5 


98  SPIEITUAL    INFLUENCE. 

baffled  by  the  operations  of  an  Agent  who  is 
limited  by  no  conditions  of  time  and  space,  and 
whose  every  movement  is  but  a  part  of  the  vast 
and  mysterious  scheme  of  the  moral  government 
of  the  universe  ?  If  the  fitful  breeze  that  stirs 
a  meadow  or  ripples  a  brook  be  a  subject  of  in- 
vestigation too  extensive  and  complicated  for 
mortal  intellect  to  grasp,  surely  there  is  little 
marvel  that  it  cannot  explain  and  calculate  the 
movements  of  that  ineffable  Power  which  works 
on  the  scale  of  infinitude.  No  !  fully  to  compre- 
hend the  measures  of  the  infinite  Spirit,  so  as  to 
see  them  freed  from  every  semblance  of  ob- 
scurity or  arbitrariness,  would  be  an  achieve- 
ment implying  a  mind  infinite  as  His  own ;  and 
surely  we  may  defer  that  enterprise  till  finite 
problems  have  ceased  to  baffle  us. 

But  the  illustration  in  the  text  may  suggest 
to  us  this  further  thought,  that  the  arbitrariness 
which  characterises  the  Spirit's  work  is,  after  all, 
only  apparent,  and  that,  beneath  seeming  irregu- 
V  larity,  there  is  real  and  unvarying  law.  It  is  so 
with  the  material  agent,  it  is  so  with  the  spiritual, 
of  which  that  is  the  emblem.  The  capriciousness, 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  99 

fitfulness,  lawlessness  of  the  wind's  motions  is 
only  in  appearance.  The  wind  never  really  does 
act  at  random.  Its  endless  inconstancies,  its 
ceaseless  and  unaccountable  changes,  are  the  re- 
sult of  material  laws  as  fixed  and  stable  as  that 
by  which  the  planets  revolve,  or  the  sun  rises 
and  sets.  Science,  indeed,  with  all  its  modern 
aids  and  appliances,  has  made  but  slight  pro- 
gress in  the  attempt  to  trace  out  the  laws  of 
winds  and  storms,  and  perhaps  this  is  a  province 
in  which  our  knowledge  must  ever  be  imperfect 
and  vague ;  but  the  vagueness  and  imperfection 
is  not  in  nature  but  in  us.  It  is  only  because 
of  the  limits  of  our  faculties  that  we  cannot  ex- 
plain the  reasons  of  every  vagary  of  the  restless 
wind,  every  motion  of  each  everchanging  cloud 
that  forms,  and  floats,  and  dissipates,  and  forms 
again  in  the  heavens,  as  easily  as  we  can  tell 
why  a  stone  falls  to  the  ground.  And  so  too, 
undoubtedly,  it  is  with  that  of  which  the  wind 
is  set  forth  as  the  type,  the  agency  of  the  Spirit 
of  God.  In  His  most  mysterious  dealings  with 
the  souls  of  men,  God  never  acts  without  a  rea- 
son. Where,  to  us,  there  seems  inconstancy,  to 


100  SPIRITUAL    INFLUENCE. 

Him  all  is  order.  What  arrogant  impiety  rejects 
as  harsh  and  arbitrary,  is?  to  the  Mind  that  alone 
can  comprehend  the  universe,  luminous  with  the 
traces  of  beneficence  and  wisdom.  And  all  that 
to  human  eye,  seems  dark,  unaccountable,  capri- 
cious, in  the  economy  of  grace,  is  so  only,  we 
may  be  well  assured,  because  our  feeble  minds 
are  incompetent  to  grasp  the  explanation.  A 
time  was  when  the  starry  firmament  presented 
to  the  eye  of  man  only  the  aspect  of  a  maze  of 
luminous  points,  scattered  hap-hazard,  or  moving 
at  random  over  the  heavens  ;  but  at  length  the 
great  thought  was  struck  out  which  evolved  from 
all  this  seeming  confusion  the  most  perfect  order 
and  harmony.  And  so,  perhaps  a  time  may 
come  when  light  shall  be  thrown  on  many  things 
that  seem  mysterious  in  the  arrangements  of 
Providence  and  in  the  dispensation  of  grace,  and 
when  the  undiscovered  spiritual  law  of  gravita- 
tion shall  reduce  all  seeming  arbitrariness  to  per- 
fect order  and  beauty.  But  meanwhile,  in  pres- 
ence of  the  inscrutable  order  of  God's  govern- 
ment, it  is  the  befitting  attitude  of  a  creature  so 
weak  and  ignorant,  even  in  earthly  things,  as 


S  P  I  11 1  T  U  A  L     INFLUENCE.  101 

man's  experience  proves  him  to  be,  not  to  criti- 
cise, to  question,  to  doubt,  but  to  submit  and  to 
adore. 

III.  The  reality  of  the  work  of  regeneration 
may  be  questioned,  finally,  because  of  its  secret 
or  imperceptible  character ;  and  it  is  this  diffi- 
culty which  the  argument  of  the  text  seems 
specially  intended  to  obviate.  Momentous 
though  the  change  be,  which,  in  regeneration, 
the  soul  is  supposed  to  undergo,  it  is  one  of 
which  we  have  no  direct  consciousness — no  im- 
mediate evidence.  The  finger  of  the  mighty 
Agent  is  not  felt  as  it  works  in  the  secret  depths 
of  our  being.  Nor  is  there  any  external  sign, 
any  glory  resting  on  the  countenance,  any 
hovering  flame  or  rushing  wind,  to  intimate  the 
presence  of  the  heavenly  visitant.  Unseen  lie 
comes,  unseen  He  departs.  We  reach  and  pass 
the  crisis  of  our  spiritual  history  all  unconscious 
that  an  event  so  extraordinary  is  taking  place 
within  the  breast.  And  it  is  not  strange  that  a 
transformation,  so  utterly  unevidenced  by  sense 
or  consciousness,  should  at  first  sight  be  regarded 


102  SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE. 

as  improbable,  and  that  men  should  sometimes 
"  marvel  when  it  is  said  unto  them,  Ye  must  be 
born  again."  We  are  accustomed  to  associate 
great  events  in  man's  earthly  history  with  out- 
ward stir  and  show,  outivard  pomp  and  circum- 
stance, and  we  can  scarcely  divest  ourselves  of 
the  notion  that  external  significance  is  insepar- 
able from  real  importance.  When  the  heir  to 
earthly  wealth  or  grandeur  is  born,  the  earliest 
cry  of  the  feeble  babe  is  the  signal  for  loud  and 
universal  gratulation,  and  by  a  thousand  obtru- 
sive indications  the  tidings  of  the  joyous  event 
are  borne  far  and  wide.  When  a  decisive  battle 
terminates  some  great  struggle,  in  which  the 
nations  are  interested,  the  shout  of  victory  has 
scarce  died  away  on  the  field  till  it  is  caught  up 
and  reverberated  from  land  to  land,  and  by  every 
outward  sign  that  can  give  expression  to  joyful 
emotion — by  banners,  flung  out  on  every  height, 
and  peals  echoing  on  every  breeze — do  men 
strive  to  mark  their  sense  of  the  magnitude  of 
the  occurrence.  How  strange  to  be  told  that  an 
event,  infinitely  more  momentous  than  these  in 
man's  history,  has  taken  place  in  silence  and 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  103 

secrecy — that  a  Child  of  the  living  God — the 
heir  of  an  inheritance,  before  which  earthly 
splendors  pale — has  been  horn,  and  yet  the 
event  been  unnoticed  and  unknown ; — that  a 
conflict,  in  which  the  powers  of  light  and  of  dark- 
ness have  been  engaged,  and  the  results  of  which 
time  cannot  measure,  has  been,  in  one  auspi- 
cious hour,  decisively  terminated,  and  yet  that 
in  profoundest  secrecy,  without  one  whisper  of 
triumph  to  mark  it,  the  victory  has  been  won ! 

But  again  let  us  turn  to  the  simple  argument 
of  the  text ;  for  here  we  are  taught  that  the 
association  on  which  all  such  incredulity  is  based 
— the  association  between  show  and  reality,  out- 
ward significance  and  real  importance — is  an 
altogether  fallacious  one.  For  the  proof  that 
visibility  and  greatness,  power  and  seeming,  are 
far  from  inseparable,  we  are  pointed  to  one  out 
of  many  similar  phenomena  which  daily  meet 
our  observation  in  the  material  world.  In  nature 
it  cannot  be  questioned  that  more  often  than 
otherwise  the  greatest  powers  and  agencies  are 
invisible.  Known  to  exist  by  their  effects,  in 
themselves  and  in  their  mode  of  operation  they 


104  SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE. 

are  imperceptible  and  unknown  ;  so  that,  to  be- 
lieve only  where  we  see,  to  discredit  the  exist- 
ence and  agency  of  all  that  is  incognisable  by 
sense,  would  be  a  maxim  as  fatal  to  science  as 
to  religion.  When  the  magnet  draws  the  iron, 
when  the  needle  turns  to  the  pole,  who  sees  the 
strange  influence  by  which  the  attraction  is 
effected?  what  eye  can  discern  the  infinitely 
minute  threads  of  influence  that  draw  the  one 
object  to  the  other?  Or,  when  the  earth  and 
other  planets  revolve  around  the  sun,  and  the 
moon  and  other  satellites  around  those,  who  can 
perceive  any  mysterious  ether  flowing  from  world 
to  world  to  convey  the  impulse  that  moves  them  ? 
What  keenest  optics  can  see  gravitation  ?  Mani- 
fest by  the  mighty  results  it  achieves,  this 
greatest  of  material  agents  is  in  itself,  and  in  the 
mode  of  its  operation,  unseen.  So,  too,  is  it,  to 
name  no  other  instance,  with  that  natural  agent 
to  which  the  text  specially  refers — the  impal- 
pable, viewless,  wind.  Visible  in  its  manifold 
influences,  it,  too,  is  in  its  essence  and  operation 
imperceptible.  As  you  have  surveyed  the  face 
of  nature  in  some  tranquil  season — the  unbreath- 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  105 

ing  summer  noon,  or  the  hushed  twilight  hour — 
every  feature  of  the  landscape  has  seemed  suf- 
fused with  calmness,  every  tree  hung  its  motion- 
less head,  every  unrippled  brook  crept  on  with 
almost  inaudible  murmuring,  every  plant  and 
flower  and  leaf  seemed  as  if  bathed  in  repose. 
But  anon  you  perhaps  perceived  a  change  passing 
over  the  scene  as  if  at  the  bidding  of  some  in- 
visible power  ; — a  rushing  sound — as  of  music 
evoked  by  invisible  fingers  from  the  harp  of 
Nature — began  to  fill  your  ear;  the  leaves  began 
to  quiver  and  rustle,  the  trees  to  bend  and  shake, 
the  stream  to  dash  onward  with  ruffled  breast 
and  brawling  sound,  and  from  every  wood  and 
glade  and  glen  there  came  forth  the  intimation, 
that  a  new  and  most  potent  agent  was  abroad 
and  working  around  you.  And  yet  while  you 
marked  this  change  on  the  face  of  nature,  did 
you  perceive  the  agent  that  effected  it  ?  Did 
the  wind  of  heaven  take  visible  form  and  appear 
as  a  winged  messenger  of  God's  will,  hurrying 
hither  and  thither  from  object  to  object  ?  Do 
you  know,  and  can  you  describe,  the  way  in 
which  he  worked, — how  his  touch  fell  upon  the 


106  SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE. 

floweret  and  bade  it  wave,  or  his  grasp  seized 
the  sturdy  oak  and  strove  with  it  till  it  quivered 
and  bent  ?  No,  you  cannot.  You  have  not 
penetrated  so  far  into  the  secrets  of  nature. 
You  have  seen  only  the  effects,  but  not  the 
agent  or  the  process  of  his  working.  You  have 
seen  the  wind's  influences  but  not  itself.  But 
do  you  therefore  marvel,  or  hesitate  to  believe 
that  it  has  been  indeed  abroad  and  working  over 
the  face  of  the  earth  ?  or  do  you  ever  doubt 
whether  there  be  any  such  agent  as  the  wind  at 
all  ?  No ;  you  have  heard  the  sound  thereof, 
you  have  witnessed  the  stir  and  commotion  of 
nature  that  told  of  its  presence,  and  so  you  be- 
lieve in  its  existence,  though  you  "cannot  tell 
whence  it  cometh,  nor  whither  it  goeth." 

So  it  is  with  every  one  that  is  born  of  the 
Spirit.  You  cannot  see  this  mysterious  agent 
any  more  than  those  natural  agents  of  which  I 
have  spoken.  But,  as  in  the  one  case  so  in  the 
other,  though  the  agent  is  invisible,  the  effects 
of  his  operation  are  manifest.  You  perceive  not 
the  passing  to  and  fro  of  a  mysterious  attraction 
between  God  and  the  soul  of  man,  but  you  will 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  107 

not  seldom  see,  as  the  needle  is  drawn  to  the 
magnet,  some  sinful  soul,  hitherto  fixed  in  its 
worldly  and  selfish  insensibility,  as  if  touched 
by  an  invisible  power,  beginning  to  bestir  itself, 
shaking  off  the  torpor  of  worldliness  and  selfish- 
ness, and  drawn  in  love  and  devotion  to  God 
and  heavenly  things.  You  do  not  see  the  gale 
from  heaven — the  breath  of  the  Spirit — wafted 
over  any  sinner's  soul,  but  ever  and  anon,  if  you 
watch  carefully  the  moral  history  of  your  fellow- 
men,  you  may  perceive,  in  the  life  of  one  or 
another  hitherto  careless  man,  a  change  more  or 
less  marked, — the  visible  witness  of  a  hidden 
and  invisible  work.  Sometimes  with  gentle 
touch  the  Spirit  comes.  When  affliction  has 
softened  the  heart,  when  solitude  or  bereave- 
ment has  made  the  soul  susceptible  of  serious 
thought,  when  the  character  is  naturally  ami- 
able, gentle,  impressible,  when  outward  circum- 
stances have  been  from  childhood  favorable  to 
piety, — the  Spirit  of  God  has  often  but  to 
breathe,  as  it  were,  an  insensible  movement  into 
the  moral  atmosphere,  in  order  to  waft  into  the 
heart  the  seeds  of  holiness,  and  cause  the  fruits 


108  SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE. 

of  holiness  to  spring  forth  in  the  life.  But 
sometimes  in  far  different  mood  the  Spirit  comes 
— as  if  in  storm  and  terror — on  the  wings  of  the 
loud  and  winter  wind.  When  the  heart  is  hard- 
ened by  sin,  or  rendered  stern  and  cold  by  long 
resistance  to  serious  impressions,  in  these  and 
similar  cases  the  Holy  Spirit  has  often  come  in 
influence  of  terror  and  alarm,  breaking  wildly 
over  the  trembling  soul,  and  causing  it  to  quake 
with  thoughts  of  guilt,  and  death,  and  judg- 
ment, and  the  wrath  to  come  ;  and  then  it  has 
been  as  if  the  inner  world  were  shaken  to  the 
centre,  and  in  the  groans  of  its  anguish  or  the 
cries  of  its  penitence — now  rising  into  hope,  now 
sinking  into  despair — the  soul  has  given  witness 
how  terribly  the  wind  of  the  Spirit  was  working 
within  it.  But  neither  in  His  gentle  nor  in  His 
rougher  visitations  is  the  working  of  the  Mighty 
Agent  ever  immediately  discernible.  Only  by 
its  effects,  by  the  fragrance  and  beauty  of  a 
saintly  life,  its  truthfulness,  gentleness,  humil- 
ity, self-denial ;  or,  again,  by  evil  passions  root- 
ed up,  inveterate  sinful  habits  bent  and  broken, 
obstacles  to  holiness  swept  away — by  the  sor- 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  109 

row,  the  self-abasement,  the  penitence,  the  pray- 
ers of  a  soul  at  the  footstool  of  infinite  Justice 
and  Mercy, — only  by  these,  its  outward  effects, 
can  the  hidden  presence  and  working  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  be  recognised. 

It  is,  then,  no  marvellous  or  incredible  doc- 
trine, but  one  corroborated  by  the  most  familiar 
analogies,  that  there  is  a  supernatural,  sovereign, 
and  secret  operation  of  the  Spirit  of  God  on 
every  penitent  and  believing  soul.  And  this  is 
a  doctrine  fraught  with  many  obvious  practical 
lessons.  For  if  the  agency  of  the  Spirit  be,  as 
we  have  seen,  a  supernatural  agency — an  agency 
above  ordinary  means,  and  apart  from  which  or- 
dinary means  must  prove  ineffectual,  consider, 
for  one  thing,  how  urgent  the  necessity  for  se- 
curing the  Spirit's  intervention.  What  an  arrest 
would  be  laid  upon  many  of  the  works  of  man, 
if  that  natural  agent,  to  which  we  have  so  often 
referred  as  the  Spirit's  type,  were  suspended ! 
If  the  wind  of  heaven  ceased  to  blow,  conceive 
how  abortive,  in  many  cases,  would  be  all  hu- 
man industry  and  skill.  The  wind  withdrawn, 


110  SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE. 

the  seas  and  rivers  would  become  leaden  and 
motionless ;  the  sail  would  hang  idle  on  the 
mast,  and  every  vessel  that  floats  the  seas,  ar- 
rested on  her  progress,  would  be  perpetually  be- 
calmed. The  labors  of  the  husbandman,  alike 
with  those  of  the  seaman,  would  be  frustrated. 
No  healthful  showers  wafted  to  our  fields,  every 
blade  would  wither,  each  dry  and  moveless 
stalk  of  grain  perish  in  the  growing,  every  green 
and  beautiful  thing  decay  from  the  earth's  face. 
The  very  physical  powers  of  man,  deprived  of 
healthful  stimulus,  would  become  languid,  heavy, 
laborious,  and  at  last  incapable  of  action.  And 
thus  in  a  thousand  ways  the  activity  of  man 
would  be  in  vain,  and  his  utmost  ingenuity  in 
the  selection  of  means,  or  perseverance  in  the 
employment  of  them,  fail  of  achieving  any  use- 
ful result. 

But  equally  fatal,  in  the  spiritual  world,  to 
the  success  of  all  human  endeavors,  would  be 
the  withholding  of  the  supernatural  grace  of  the 
Spirit  of  God.  In  vain  as  the  sowing  of  seed 
on  dry  and  barren  soil,  our  reading  and  teach- 
ing, our  sacraments  and  solemnities,  if  the  secret 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  Ill 

grace  of  germination  aid  not  our  efforts.  In 
vain  as  the  spreading  of  sails  beneath  windless 
skies  every  aspiration  after  holiness,  every  at- 
tempt to  break  away  from  sin  and  live  for  God, 
if  the  favoring  breath  of  spiritual  influence  de- 
scend not  to  co-operate  with  our  endeavors. 
Pray,  then,  for  the  Spirit.  In  all  your  efforts 
to  be  good  or  to  do  good,  seek  this  heavenly 
aid.  Despair  of  success  apart  from  it ;  rest  not 
till  you  have  obtained  it.  The  wind  comes  not 
at  the  sailor's  or  the  husbandman's  call ;  but  in 
this,  blessed  be  God,  the  earthly  type  is  far 
transcended  by  the  heavenly  reality ;  for  the 
believer  is  possessed  of  a  spell  that  can  summon 
the  gracious  aid  of  the  Spirit  in  every  time  of 
need.  The  man  whose  voyage  is  arrested,  and 
to  whom  delay  is  ruinous,  may  long  and  pray 
for  the  springing  up  of  the  favoring  breeze,  and 
yet  days  and  weeks  may  pass,  and  no  answer 
come.  The  parched  earth  may  crave  for  mois- 
ture, and  while  the  fruits  of  his  toils  are  perish- 
ing before  his  eyes,  the  husbandman  may 
fervently  invoke  the  wind  that  wafts  the  show- 
er-laden cloud  to  his  fields,  and  yet  the  heavens 


112  SPIRITUAL    INFLUENCP:. 

may  still  be  above  him  as  brass.  But  not  in 
spiritual  things  is  our  gracious  Benefactor  ever 
thus  inexorable.  "  Your  heavenly  Father  will 
give  His  Holy  Spirit  to  them  that  ask  Him." 
Our  progress  heavenward  need  never  be  de- 
layed, the  fruits  of  holiness  need  never  be 
blighted  for  lack  of  that  heavenly  influence. 
Ask  then  in  faith,  never  doubting.  God  may 
not  will  your  earthly  prosperity,  but  your  spir- 
itual welfare  is  dearer  to  His  heart  than  to  your 
own,  and  nothing  that  contributes  to  it  shall  be 
wanting  to  the  earnest  supplicant.  In  every 
emergency,  in  every  Christian  work  and  effort, 
therefore,  pray  for  the  abundant  grace  of  the 
Spirit,  without  which  you  can  do  nothing,  with 
which  you  can  do  all  things. 

And  if  the  doctrine  of  the  text  furnishes  us 
with  a  motive  to  prayer,  not  less  suggestive  is  it 
of  encouragement  to  effort.  For  whilst  our 
natural  powers  soon  reach  their  limit,  to  the 
supernatural  aid  on  which  we  are  encouraged  to 
depend  there  is  none.  With  the  power  of  God 
to  help  him,  no  man  need  despair  of  moral  re- 
covery. With  the  infinite  resources  of  God's 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  113 

grace  at  our  command,  no  attainment  in  holiness 
is  beyond  our  reach.  Self-reformation,  by  the 
mere  strength  of  human  resolution,  soon  proves 
a  vain  attempt;  but  the  effort  to  repent  and 
turn  to  God — to  regain  our  lost  purity  and 
happiness — cannot  fail,  when  the  very  Power 
that  fashioned  our  mysterious  being  prompts  and 
aids  in  the  work  of  restoration.  What  man 
made,  man  may  repair  ;  but  the  soul  is  a  divine 
work,  a  thing  too  noble  and  delicate,  as  well  as 
too  deeply  disordered  by  sin,  to  be  remoulded 
and  restored  by  any  finite  skill  or  energy.  But 
not  to  finite  skill  or  energy  is  the  work  of  re- 
storation committed  ;  and  surely  we  may  labor 
in  this  work  with  the  most  sanguine  hope — nay, 
with  firm  assurance  of  success,  when  we  know 
that  the  very  Mind  and  Hand  that  devised  and 
framed  our  spiritual  being  are  working  with  us 
for  its  recovery.  "  We  are  laborers  together 
with  God  :  ye  are  God's  husbandry,  ye  are 
God's  building."  Nor,  with  such  inexhaustible 
and  ever-accessible  help,  need  we  confine  our 
endeavors  merely  to  the  restoration  of  the  soul. 
There  is  no  limit  to  our  possible  progress  and  ad- 


114  SPIEITUAL     INFLUENCE. 

vancement.  The  richest  soil  soon  reaches  its  limit 
of  productiveness.  The  enterprise  of  him  who 
seeks  earthly  wealth  is  restricted  by  the  extent 
of  his  capital  or  credit.  But  in  spiritual  things 
you  need  set  no  such  bounds  to  your  efforts  : 
the  soil  from  which  the  fruits  of  holiness  are 
gathered,  is  prolific  beyond  all  possibility  of  ex- 
haustion; it  is  God  who  gives  the  increase. 
The  treasury  from  which  your  capital  is  drawn 
is  one  which  can  never,  by  your  largest  demands 
for  aid,  be  impoverished.  Why,  then,  should 
any  Christian  rest  content  with  past  attain- 
ments ?  Every  beautiful  grace,  every  noble 
virtue  that  has  ever  adorned  the  saintliest  of 
mankind,  may  be  yours.  Why  should  any  man 
be  satisfied  with  small  and  scanty  spiritual  gains  ? 
In  divine  things  there  can  be  no  avarice  ;  to  the 
most  insatiable  desire  of  wealth  you  may  inno- 
cently give  scope.  You  are  not  straitened  in 
God,  be  not  straitened  in  yourselves. 

And  again,  if  the  agency  of  the  Spirit  is  not 
only  supernatural,  but  also  sovereign — if  in  this 
respect  also  it  can  be  likened  to  that  material 
agent  which  is  set  forth  as  its  type,  the  wind 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  115 

that  "  bloweth  where  it  listeth" — surely  in  this 
aspect,  too,  the  subject  is  replete  with  practical 
significance.  For  does  not  the  very  uncertainty 
and  seeming  fitfulness  of  nature's  influences  act 
as  a  stimulus  to  the  exertions  of  man?  The 
fair  wind  that  has  long  been  waited  for,  and  may 
speedily  die  away;  the  spring-tide  that  comes 
only  at  distant  intervals,  and  must  be  taken  at 
the  flood ;  the  balmy  season  propitious  to  the 
husbandman's  toils  ;  the  bright  moments  favor- 
able to  intellectual  exertion,  when  thought  flows 
quick,  and  the  spirits  are  high,  and  winged 
fancies  come  in  precious  visitations  on  the  soul 
— is  there  not  something  in  the  very  uncertainty 
and  evanescence  of  these  happy  influences  and 
golden  opportunities  that  tends  mightily  to 
quicken  watchfulness  and  stimulate  effort  ?  And 
should  it  not  be  so  in  spiritual  things  too  ?  If, 
explain  it  as  we  may,  there  is  any  similar  vari- 
ableness in  the  times  and  seasons  of  religious 
influence,  how  urgent  the  motive  thus  presented 
to  Christian  vigilance  in  waiting  for  every  favor- 
able opportunity,  and  to  diligence  in  improving 
it !  It  is  not  for  us,  indeed,  always  to  know  the 


116  SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE. 

times  and  seasons  which  God  hath  put  in  His 
own  power ;  but  there  are,  perhaps,  none  of  us 
who  do  not  know  from  personal  experience  that 
ever  and  anon  there  come  to  the  soul  times  of 
visitation — hours  of  softened  feeling  and  deep- 
ened thoughtfulness,  when  the  things  of  time 
lose  their  hold  upon  us,  and  the  eternal  world 
rolls  nearer,  with  all  its  grand  realities,  to  the 
spirit's  eye.  And  are  not  these  the  spring  tides 
of  the  soul,  the  seasons  propitious  to  the  spirit- 
ual husbandly,  every  moment  of  which  gathers 
round  it  the  importance  of  that  eternal  harvest 
to  which  the  rapid  hours  are  bringing  us  ?  Are 
not  these,  in  one  word,  the  times  when  the 
spiritual  gales  blow  freshest  and  fairest  from  the 
heavens,  and  the  soul,  instinct  with  life,  feels 
every  expanded  energy  yielding  to  the  almost 
sensible  impulses  of  the  Spirit  of  Truth  and 
Love  ?  How  precious  such  moments  !  Who 
that  reflects  on  their  worth  would  not  long  and 
pray  and  watch  for  their  coming,  and,  while 
they  continue,  strain  every  energy  to  catch  to 
the  last  breath  the  blessing  which  they  bring  ? 
And,  finally,  in  that  other  aspect  in  which  we 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  117 

have  viewed  the  Spirit's  work — as  a  work  se- 
cret in  itself,  yet  manifest  by  its  effects — is 
there  not  conveyed  to  us  a  lesson  of  deepest 
practical  interest  ?  For  what  inquiry  so  impor- 
tant to  each  of  us  as  this,  Can  I  discern  in  my 
character  and  life  the  signs  of  the  Spirit's  pres- 
ence— the  visible  proofs  of  this  mighty  agent's 
invisible  operation?  Unseen  He  may  come; 
unfelt  and  imperceptible  may  be  His  working, 
as  it  blends  with  the  secret  springs  of  thought 
and  feeling  within  the  breast ;  but  wherever  He 
does  work,  sooner  or  later,  the  result  will  be 
manifest  and  unequivocal.  The  external  change 
indeed,  that  indicates  His  presence  may  be,  to 
all  but  the  closest  inspection,  unapparent.  For 
there  is  a  formal  and  conventional  propriety 
which  may  spring  from  many  motives  short  of 
religious  principle — from  natural  amiableness, 
from  the  absence  of  strong  temptations,  from 
the  influence  of  circumstances,  from  regard  to 
the  opinions  of  men;  and  the  transition  from 
that  outward  morality  which  is  the  product  of 
such  motives,  to  that  holiness  which  is  the  fruit 
of  the  Spirit's  work,  may,  in  form  at  least,  be 


118  SPIRITUAL    INFLUENCE. 

but  slightly  observable.  But  slight  or  marked 
to  the  inspection  of  others,  to  the  inward  con- 
sciousness of  the  renewed  mind  itself  the  re- 
sults of  the  Divine  agency  will,  I  repeat,  sooner 
or  later  be  obvious  and  unmistakable  ;  for  that 
result  will  be  not  formal  but  real — not  out- 
ward reformation  merely,  but  a  change  of  heart 
— not  surface  goodness,  but  spirituality  of  mind 
and  motive  flowing  out  into  holiness  of  life. 

Apply  this  test,  then,  to  your  own  conscious- 
ness, and  be  satisfied  with  none  less  searching. 
"  If  any  man  have  not  the  Spirit  of  Christ,  he 
is  none  of  His."  "  Except  a  man  be  born  of 
the  Spirit,  he  cannot  see  the  kingdom  of  God." 
Would  you  discover  whether  you  "have  the 
Spirit  of  Christ," — whether  yours  is  the  destiny 
of  those  who  have  been  "  born  of  the  Spirit  ?" 
Then  let  not  the  question  be,  "Am  I  leading 
such  a  life  as  to  escape  the  censure  or  win  the 
commendation  of  the  world?"  for  the  stream 
may  rise  as  high  as  its  source,  and  the  world 
itself  may  supply  you  with  motive  sufficient  to 
reach  its  own  standard  of  moral  elevation.  Let 
it  not  even  suffice  to  ask,  "  Am  I  not  now  a 


SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE.  119 

wiser  and  better  man  than  I  once  was  ? — 
have  I  not  abandoned  many  former  irregulari- 
ties of  conduct,  and  ceased  to  gratify  many 
passions  to  which  in  other  days  I  yielded  ?" 
For  it  needs  not  the  interposition  of  the  Spirit 
of  God  to  dry  up  the  passions  of  youth,  and 
extinguish  the  fires  of  sensuality  within  us ; 
the  inevitable  influence  of  years  will  serve  well 
enough  for  that ;  and  the  transformation  of  the 
heedless,  or  even  vicious  youth,  into  the  sober 
and  prudent  man,  may  come  as  independently 
of  principle,  as  much  irrespectively  of  a  change 
of  heart,  as  the  silvering  of  the  hair  or  the 
whitening  of  the  cheek.  But  the  inquiry  must 
be,  "  Am  I  leading  a  holy  life  from  real,  heart- 
felt self-devotion  to  Christ?  Are  my  inward 
principles,  feelings,  motives,  such  as  will  ap- 
prove themselves  to  the  eye  of  Him  who  seeth 
in  secret?  Do  I  not  only  outwardly  abstain 
from  what  is  wrong,  but  do  I  hate  and  shrink 
from  sin  in  my  inmost  heart !  pained  when  I 
am  betrayed  into  it,  glad  when  I  gain  the  vic- 
tory over  it  ?  Am  I  exercising  a  control,  not 
over  my  outward  conduct  merely,  but  over  my 


120  SPIRITUAL     INFLUENCE. 

thoughts  and  affections — over  my  secret  habits, 
dispositions,  tempers  ?  Is  God  so  reverenced 
and  loved  in  the  inmost  shrine  of  my  being, 
that  I  strive  to  expel  thence  every  evil  thought, 
every  vain,  impure,  selfish  feeling,  and  to  keep 
the  temple  of  a  pure  heart  sacred  to  Him 
alone  ?"  By  the  response  which  an  honest 
heart  yields  to  such  questions  as  these  may  we 
elicit  the  true  answer  to  that  other  and  most 
momentous  question  which  involves  and  com- 
prehends them  all,  "  Have  I  been  born  of  the 
Spirit  of  God  ?" 


Clje  fnirisifcl* 


PART    FIRST. 

"  No  man  hath  seen  God  at  any  time ;  the  only  begotten  Son, 
which  is  in  the  bosom  of  the  Father,  He  hath  declared  Him." 

JOHN,  i.  18. 

To  see  God !     Has  any  created 
SERM.  IV.]  .  J. 

mind  ever  known  what  is  included 

in  these  simple  words  ?  Has  the  highest  finite 
intelligence  ever  fathomed  their  meaning?  Is 
there  any  intellect  but  that  of  Deity  itself 
which  can  comprehend  the  full  sweep  of  their 
grandeur  ? 

To  see  God — to  look  face  to  face  upon  the 
Supreme — every  intervening  veil  of  sense  with- 
drawn, to  gaze  upon  that  awful  Presence,  of 
which  all  created  excellence  is  but  the  faint  re- 
flection !  What  sights  of  beauty,  and  wonder, 
and  awe,  on  which  mortal  eye  has  ever  rested — 
what  visions  of  uncreated  glory  that  have  ever 
passed  before  the  imagination  of  man,  can  con- 


Calrd. 


122  THE    INVISIBLE    GOD. 

vey  to  the  mind  a  conception  of  the  vision  of 
God? 

To  see  God !  What  is  the  highest  exercise 
of  a  believer's  faith  but  to  catch  some  wavering, 
transient  glimpse  of  Jehovah's  glory  ?  What  is 
the  most  exquisite  happiness  of  any  soul  in 
Christ,  but  to  rise,  even  for  a  moment,  in  thought 
and  aspiration,  into  the  presence  of  the  Infinite 
Good  and  Fair  ?  What  constitutes  the  very  bliss 
of  heaven,  the  joy  of  pure  and  glorified  spirits 
before  the  throne,  but  to  "  see  the  King  in  His 
beauty  ?" 

Yet  it  is  declared  in  the  text  that  "  no  man 
hath  seen  God  at  any  time."  "  Whom  no  man 
hath  seen,  nor  can  see," — writes  another  apostle. 
He  is  designated  "  The  Invisible  God,"  and  again, 
"  The  King  Eternal,  Immortal,  Invisible."  Is  it 
then  so  ?  Must  we,  indeed,  repress  every  longing 
of  desire,  every  yearning  of  devout  and  loving 
hearts,  after  the  nearer  and  brighter  light  of  our 
Father's  countenance?  "Oh  that  I  might  see 
Him !" — is  not  this  sometimes  the  thought  of 
the  doubting  and  troubled  spirit  ?  "  Oh  that  it 
were  possible  for  that  Great  Being,  if  indeed  He 


THE    INVISIBLE    GOD.  123 

exist,  to  break  through,  even  for  a  moment,  the 
secresy  and  stillness  of  creation,  and,  by  the 
visible  manifestation  of  His  person,  to  set  my 
doubts  and  difficulties  for  ever  at  rest."  "  Oh 
that  I  might  see  Him  !" — has  not  this  been  the 
involuntary  cry  of  many  a  desponding  heart, 
when  the  light  of  God's  love  has  seemed  to  be 
withdrawn,  and  the  darkness  of  spiritual  deser- 
tion has  gathered  over  the  soul  ? — "  Oh  that  I 
knew  where  I  might  find  Him,  that  I  might 
come  even  to  His  seat !  I  go  forward,  but  He 
is  not  there,  backward,  but  I  cannot  perceive 
Him.  He  hideth  Himself  that  I  cannot  see  Him. 
Strange  that  He  should  be  ever  near,  yet  ever 
distant ;  that  the  Being  for  whom  my  heart  longs 
should  be  always  beside  me,  and  yet  communi- 
cation with  Him  be  impossible, — that  in  every 
movement  of  nature,  in  every  passing  breeze,  in 
every  glancing  sunbeam — nay,  in  every  throb  of 
my  pulse,  and  every  thought  of  my  mind — there 
should  be  the  indication  of  a  Father's  nearness, 
whose  face  I  yet  can  never  see  !"  Or  again, 
when  the  believer  contemplates  in  thoughtful 
moments  the  spectacle  of  human  ungodliness — 


124  THE    INVISIBLE    GOD. 

when  he  looks  round  on  a  world  where  but  too 
often  God  is  forgotten.  His  laws  dishonored.  His 
very  existence  disowned — when  he  watches  the 
slender  success  which  often  attends  the  most 
earnest  efforts  for  the  moral  good  of  mankind — 
how  often  does  the  wish  rise  to  his  lip,  "  Oh  that 
men  might  see  Him — that  it  were  possible  for 
the  heavens  above  them  to  dispart,  and  that 
Great  Being,  the  silent  and  awful  Witness  of  sin, 
to  reveal  Himself  even  for  a  moment  to  their 
sight,  and  to  arrest,  by  the  spectacle  of  the 
offended  majesty  of  the  heavens,  the  folly  and 
wickedness  of  man  !"  But  in  vain  all  such  long- 
ings. Neither  to  convince  the  doubting,  nor  to 
comfort  the  desponding,  nor  to  rouse  the  igno- 
rant and  profane,  does  God  break  through  the 
awful  seclusion  of  the  universe,  or  withdraw  for 
a  moment  the  veil  that  hides  Him  from,  human 
sight.  There  are  insuperable  hindrances  in  this 
our  imperfect  state  of  being  to  any  immediate 
vision  of  God.  There  are  reasons  which  render 
it  impossible,  so  long  at  least  as  we  dwell  in  this 
region  of  sense  and  sin,  that,  without  some  ob- 
scuring medium  to  dim  the  full  blaze  of  the  Di- 


THE    INVISIBLE    GOD.  125 

vine  glory,  human  eye  should  be  permitted  to 
behold  the  face  of  God.  We  may  linger  at  the 
foot  of  the  mount,  but  it  is  a  light  inaccessible 
and  full  of  glory  that  rests  on  its  summit ;  and 
even  the  most  favored  of  mortals,  in  the  hour 
when  holy  contemplation  brings  them  nearest  to 
the  throne,  are  debarred  from  all  further  ap- 
proach by  the  stern  prohibition,  "  Thou  canst  not 
see  my  face ;  for  there  shall  no  man  see  God, 
and  live." 

Yet  whilst  the  text  intimates  that  "  no  man 
hath  seen  God  at  any  time/'  it  further  teaches 
us  that  "  the  only-begotten  Son,  who  is  in  the 
bosom  of  the  Father,  He  hath  declared  Him ;" 
and  our  Lord  is  elsewhere  described  as  "the 
image  of  the  Invisible  God ;"  and  again,  as  "  the 
brightness  of  the  Father's  glory,  and  the  express 
image  of  His  person."  Moreover,  Jesus  himself, 
in  answer  to  the  inquiry  of  a  disciple,  declares, 
"  He  that  hath  seen  me,  hath  seen  the  Father." 

Two  truths,  then,  are  obviously  brought  be- 
fore us  in  this  passage  of  Scripture — the  truth, 
in  the  first  place,  that  God,  essential  or  absolute 
Deity,  is  to  us,  in  our  present  state  of  being,  in- 


126  THE    INVISIBLE    GOD. 

visible ;  and  the  truth,  secondly,  that  Jesus 
Christ  is  the  declaration  or  manifestation  of  God 
to  men. 

I.  God  is  invisible.  We  cannot  see  Him. 
We  are,  in  this  world,  debarred  from  looking 
upon  the  face  or  discerning  the  immediate  pres- 
ence of  Deity.  Why  is  it  so  ?  If  it  would 
contribute  to  the  happiness  of  the  saint,  or 
check  the  sinner  in  his  course  of  wickedness,  to 
behold  God,  why  does  God  remain  invisible  ? 

Now,  in  reflecting  on  this  question,  it  will 
occur  to  you  as  one  consideration,  that  it  is  na- 
turally impossible  for  what  is  spiritual  to  be  per- 
ceived by  sense.  There  are  even  material 
agents  in  existence  around  us  so  subtle  as  to 
elude  the  cognisance  of  the  senses.  There  are 
powers  in  nature  whose  ever-present  influence 
we  perce.ve,  yet  which  themselves  are  never  di- 
rectly discerned.  The  varied  forms  and  colors 
of  material  objects  around  us  the  eye  can  de- 
tect, but  not  the  latent  electricity  that  pervades 
them.  The  masses  and  motions  of  the  plane- 
tary bodies  are  appreciable  by  the  sight ;  but 


THE    INVISIBLE    GOD.  127 

the  keenest  organs  of  sense  cannot  see  gravita- 
tion, cannot  detect  that  mysterious  power,  as  it 
flies  through  space,  binding  orb  to  orb.  And  if 
thus  on  the  confines,  so  to  speak,  of  the  ma- 
terial and  spiritual  worlds,  there  are  agents  im- 
palpable to  sense,  much  more,  when  we  pass 
those  limits,  do  we  enter  into  a  region  where 
bodily  organs  fail  us,  and  a  vision  and  faculty 
far  more  divine  is  needed.  Who  has  seen 
thought  ?  What  eye  has  ever  rested  on  that 
mysterious  essence  which  we  designate  mind, 
soul,  spirit  ?  If  it  be  that  spiritual  intelligences 
surround  us,  if  millions  of  spiritual  beings  walk 
the  earth  both  when  we  wake  and  sleep,  yet,  as 
they  pass  hither  and  thither  on  their  heavenly 
ministries,  does  the  faintest  sign  of  the  presence 
of  these  glorious  beings  ever  flash  on  the  dull 
sense  of  man  ?  Nay,  are  we  not  dwellers  in  a 
world  of  embodied  spirits,  holding  continual  in- 
tercourse with  them,  witnessing  constantly  the 
proofs  of  their  existence  and  the  effects  of  their 
activity  ;  yet  has  one  human  spirit  ever  become 
visible  to  another  ?  No  !  It  is  but  the  forms 
of  spirit  that  are  visible  to  sense.  We  see  in 


128  THE    INVISIBLE    GOD. 

the  visible  world  around  us  the  mere  houses  of 
souls. 

In  this  sense,  then,  God  is  now  and  ever  must 
be  invisible.  If  even  a  finite  spirit  cannot  be 
seen  by  the  bodily  eye,  how  much  less  the  In- 
finite Spirit  ?  Finite  spirits  may  indeed  be  in 
some  measure  outwardly  represented  and  recog- 
nised, when  localised  in  bodily  forms.  Human 
souls  may  be  identified  by  the  material  shapes 
with  which  they  are  clothed.  But  even  in  their 
case  there  is  something  nobler  in  spirit  than  the 
fairest  form  of  human  beauty  or  grace  or  ma- 
jesty can  depict.  The  robe  is  often  unworthy 
of  the  wearer.  And  how,  then,  can  the  Infinite 
Spirit  ever  thus  be  made  known?  How  can  He 
be  localised  in  matter  whom  the  Heaven  of 
heavens  cannot  contain  ?  What  corporeal  or- 
ganisation can  ever  adequately  represent  the 
Omniscient  Mind  ?  The  material  universe  it- 
self is  but  a  feeble  expression  of  God's  illimi- 
table greatness.  Beyond  all  created  forms  of 
beauty  there  is  ever  a  "  glory  that  excelleth," 
which  the  imagination  cannot  conceive ;  nor  does 
it  seem  possible  for  even  Omnipotence  to  fash- 


THE    INVISIBLE    GOD.  129 

ion  out  of  matter  an  adequate  embodiment  of 
itself.  Could  we  entertain  for  a  moment  the 
supposition  of  God  condescending  to  contrive 
some  resplendent  form,  some  radiant  shape  of 
"superhuman  majesty  and  loveliness,  by  which  to 
convey  to  man  a  conception  of  His  spiritual 
glory,  we  might  conceive  the  universe  to  be 
searched  in  vain  for  the  materials  of  such  a  pro- 
duction. We  might  give  the  rein  to  fancy,  and 
imagine  the  sun  robbed  of  its  glory  and  the 
stars  of  their  splendors,  and  heaven,  earth,  sea, 
skies,  all  the  myriad  worlds  in  space,  combining 
to  surrender  whatever  of  beauty  or  grandeur 
they  contain;  still  would  the  result  be  miserably 
insufficient  to  portray  the  unapproachable  glory 
of  the  invisible  Being  of  God.  "  These  are  but 
parts  of  His  ways  ;  how  little  a  portion  is  heard 
of  Him !  but  the  thunder  of  His  power  who  can 
understand  ?" 

But  if  God  cannot  be  seen  by  the  eye  of 
sense,  is  an  immediate  mental  vision  of  God 
equally  inconceivable  ?  Is  there  no  possibility 
of  a  direct  and  intuitive  vision  of  spiritual  ob- 
jects by  the  mind,  corresponding  to  that  of 


130  THE    INVISIBLE    GOD. 

sensible  objects  by  the  bodily  organ  of  sight  ? 
Cannot  souls  see  face  to  face  ?  And  is  it 
simply  because  the  thing  is  impossible  that  we 
are  in  this  world  precluded  from  beholding  God  ? 

Now  to  this  it  must  be  answered,  that  so  far 
from  being  impossible,  an  immediate  mental  or 
spiritual  vision  of  God  is  both  conceivable  in 
thought  and  expressly  revealed  in  Scripture. 
It  is  possible  for  spiritual  beings,  if  we  may  so 
speak,  to  see  into  each  other ;  for  we  know  that 
He  to  whom  all  hearts  are  open  reads  our  unut- 
tered  thoughts  and  feelings,  and  there  is  noth- 
ing to  hinder  Him  from  bestowing  on  us  an 
inferior  measure  of  the  same  mysterious  power 
of  soul-vision,  so  that  the  soul  might  be  ren- 
dered capable  of  seeing  into  God  as  God  sees 
into  it,  of  "  knowing  even  as  it  is  known." 

To  aid  our  conceptions  of  this  vision  of  God, 
entertain  for  a  moment  the  supposition  that  we 
were  endowed  with  the  power  of  seeing  directly 
into  the  mind  of  a  fellow-man.  The  thoughts 
which  delight  us  when  we  read  them  in  the 
works  of  earthly  genius,  had  a  real  existence  in 
the  mind  of  the  poet  or  philosopher  before  they 


THE     INVISIBLE     GOD.  131 

were  moulded  into  words  ;  and  forasmuch  as 
even  the  noblest  language  is  often  but  the  feeble 
and  inadequate  expression  of  the  still  more 
noble  thoughts  that  glow  within  the  breast,  our 
delight,  we  can  conceive,  would  be  much  great- 
er, our  privilege  much  higher,  were  it  possible  to 
dispense  with  the  poor  medium  of  language  al- 
together, to  look  at  once  into  the  soul  of  the 
great  thinker,  and  to  see  his  grand  conceptions 
as  they  burst  into  being  on  the  surface  of  the 
spirit.  So,  again,  the  idea  of  beauty  is  prior  to 
the  external  realization  of  it ;  it  exists  in  the 
mind  of  the  great  artist  before  he  labors  to.  give 
visible  expression  to  it  in  color  and  form ;  and  it 
is  ever  the  characteristic  of  great  genius  in  art 
that  it  never  satisfies  itself,  never  fully  reaches 
its  own  ideal,  and  that  the  creation  of  the  hand, 
even  when  its  touch  is  most  delicate,  lags  far 
behind  the  rarer  grace  and  beauty  with  which 
the  soul  is  on  fire.  So  that  if  even  the  compar- 
atively faint  embodiment  of  the  beautiful  in 
conception  affords  so  much  gratification  when 
presented  to  the  eye  in  the  breathing  marble  or 
on  the  glowing  canvass,  we  can  perhaps  imagine 


132  THE     INVISIBLE     GOD. 

what  would  be  the  purer  and  more  exquisite  de- 
light of  the  observer,  were  he  endowed  with  a 
faculty  of  spiritual  vision  by  which  he  could 
gaze  at  once  on  the  inner  types  of  beauty,  the 
fresh,  undimmed  originals  hung  up  in  the  soul's 
picture-gallery,  instead  of  looking  only  on  the 
tamer  copies  which  the  hand  produces. 

Now,  if  we  will  but  rise  to  a  higher  region 
of  contemplation,  and  entertain  for  a  moment  the 
idea  of  one  gifted  with  this  power  of  soul  vision, 
who  should  be  permitted  to  see  immediately 
into  the  mind  of  God,  to  gaze  directly  on  the 
thoughts  and  conceptions  of  that  Infinite  Mind 
which  is  the  origin  of  all  truth,  beauty,  goodness, 
we  shall  have  before  us  that  which  the  Scrip- 
tures represent  as  constituting  the  chief  element 
of  the  felicity  of  saints  in  heaven,  the  vision  of 
Deity.  The  Bible,  Providence,  the  visible  crea- 
tion, are  God's  thoughts,  conveyed  to  us  in 
outward  expression — by  words,  symbols,  mate- 
rial manifestations.  But  the  grand  ideas  of 
Scripture  existed  in  the  mind  of  the  Infinite 
Spirit  before  they  found  utterance  through  the 
imperfect  medium  of  human  speech ;  and  the 


THE     INVISIBLE     GOD.  133 

conception  of  the  universe,  with  all  its  beauty, 
and  order,  and  harmony,  was  in  the  mind  of  the 
Creator  ere  it  took  form  in  the  visible  splendors 
of  earth,  and  sea,  and  skies. 

Conceive,  then,  what  it  would  be  to  rise  above 
and  beyond  these  outward  forms  and  shadows, 
— to  look,  not  on  the  mere  borrowed  light  of 
truth,  but  on  that  Light  Ineffable  from  whence 
the  noblest  earthly  inspirations  have  ever  caught 
their  fire, — to  discern  not  merely  faint  reflec- 
tions and  representations  of  divine  love  through 
the  dim,  cold  atmosphere  of  earthly  ordinances, 
but,  heart  to  heart  with  God,  to  dwell  where 
happy  souls  revel  unsated,  undazzled,  in  the 
Essential  Element  of  Love.  Or,  when  you  look 
on  some  glorious  scene  of  this  world's  loveliness, 
— on  mountain,  lake,  and  forest  breaking  into 
beauty  in  the  morning  light,  or  flooded  with  the 
golden  noontide,  or  softened,  subdued,  half  con- 
cealed, half  revealed,  beneath  the  tremulous 
splendors  of  the  nightly  heavens — conceive  what 
it  would  be  to  look  on  that  Mind,  of  which  even 
all  this  earthly  glory  is  but  the  faint  transcript, 
and  to  gaze  directly  and  immediately  upon  the 


134  THE     INVISIBLE     GOD. 

types  of  beauty  there.  And  of  this  the  Bible 
tells  us  that  the  soul  of  man  is  incapable.  The 
veil  that  hides  from  us  the  all-glorious  Father  of 
spirits  shall  one  day  be  withdrawn.  The  spir- 
itual eye  shall  be  quickened  to  look  into  the 
heart  and  life  of  the  universe.  The  intercepting 
medium  of  sense  shall  be  swept  away,  and  the 
soul  of  the  redeemed  laid  bare  to  the  ineffable 
brightness  and  beauty  of  God  streaming  full- 
orbed  around  it.  "  Blessed  are  the  pure  in 
heart/'  it  is  written,  "  for  they  shall  see  God." 
"  Beloved,  now  are  we  the  sons  of  God  ;  and  it 
doth  not  yet  appear  what  we  shall  be,  but  we 
know  that  when  He  shall  appear,  we  shall  be 
like  Him,  for  we  shall  see  Him  as  He  is." 
"  Now  we  see  through  a  glass  darkly,  but  then 
face  to  face  ;  now  I  know  in  part,  but  then  shall 
I  know  even  as  also  I  am  known."  "  They  shall 
see  His  face,  and  His  name  shall  be  on  their 
foreheads.  And  they  need  no  candle,  neither 
light  of  the  sun,  for  the  Lord  God  giveth 
them  light." 

The  idea,  then,  of  an  immediate  vision  of 
God,  involves  no  impossibility.     Though  God 


THE     INVISIBLE     GOD.  135 

cannot  be  seen  by  the  bodily  eye,  there  is  a  ca- 
pacity in  the  soul  which  needs  only  to  be  devel- 
oped in  order  to  our  attaining  an  immediate  in- 
tuition of  the  all-present  God.  There  is  nothing 
incredible,  nothing  in  the  nature  of  things  im- 
possible in  the  supposition,  that  at  any  moment 
the  great  Ruler  of  the  Universe  might  break 
forth  from  the  awful  seclusion  of  eternity,  and 
by  the  manifestation  of  His  presence  at  once 
consummate  the  happiness  of  His  people,  and 
arrest  the  ungodly  in  the  midst  of  their  sins. 
The  question,  therefore,  recurs,  Why  is  such  an 
interposition  withheld  ?  Why  is  the  immediate 
sight  of  God  reserved  for  the  future  world  ? 
Why  is  it  the  irreversible  law  of  the  present, 
that ."  no  man  hath  seen  God  at  any  time  ?" 

Now  to  this  question  I  answer,  that  the  invis- 
ibility of  God  seems  to  be  a  necessary  condition 
of  the  two-fold  character  of  our  present  state  of 
being,  as  a  state  of  trial,  and  as  a  state  of  train- 
ing. 

View  the  present  life,  first,  in  the  aspect  of  a 
state  of  trial,  and  you  will  see  that  such  an  eco- 
nomy necessitates  the  invisibility  of  God.  For 


136  THE     INVISIBLE     GOD. 

the  idea  of  a  state  of  trial  is  that  of  a  condition 
of  things  in  which  neither  the  motives  to  good 
nor  the  motives  to  evil  are  of  an  overwhelming 
and  irresistible  character.  There  can  be  no 
trial  where  there  is  no  possibility  of  error  or 
failure.  If  a  man's  love  of  truth  is  to  be  tested, 
truth  must  not  blaze  before  him  with  self-evi- 
dent clearness  and  vividness.  Clear  enough  for 
the  candid  and  earnest  inquirer  to  find  it  out,  it 
must  at  the  same  time  be  obscure  enough  to 
escape  the  observation  of  the  careless  or  preju- 
diced. If  a  man's  love  of  goodness  is  to  be 
tested,  the  consequences  of  goodness  or  wicked- 
ness must  not  be  rendered  so  inevitable  and  in- 
stantaneous that  only  madness  would  hesitate  to 
choose  between  them  ;  on  the  contrary,  the 
trial  of  moral  principle  will  then  be  the  most 
searching  when  holiness  partakes  the  most  of 
the  character  of  a  struggle  or  conflict,  and  the 
penalties  of  sinful  pleasure  are  distant  and  seem- 
ingly uncertain. 

Now  there  can  be  no  question  that  our  con- 
dition in  the  present  life  corresponds,  in  a  great 
measure,  to  this  conception  of  a  state  of  trial. 


THE    INVISIBLE    GOD.  137 

For  whilst  we  must  exclude  from  our  minds  the 
idea  of  any  such  probation  as  would  involve  in 
it  a  meritorious  title  to  the  rewards  of  the  fu- 
ture life,  yet  it  is  plain  that  we  are  placed  in  a 
condition  in  which  truth  and  error,  good  and 
evil,  life  and  death,  are  set  before  us,  in  which 
we  are  left  on  our  own  responsibility  to  choose 
between  these  alternatives,  and  in  which  the 
possibility  of  a  wrong  choice  is  not  precluded. 
Divine  truth  does  not  pour  itself  like  the  light 
of  the  sun  upon  heedless  eyes,  or  force  its  ap- 
peals, as  by  mighty  thunderings  and  voices, 
upon  inattentive  ears.  Not  even  the  funda- 
mental truths  of  religion,  such  as  the  Existence 
and  Providence  of  God,  are  so  obtruded  on  the 
attention,  or  supported  by  such  overwhelming 
evidence  as  to  constrain  the  assent  of  the  reluc- 
tant or  careless  mind.  Notwithstanding  all  the 
light  of  reason  and  of  revelation,  these  are  still 
but  the  "  open  secrets"  of  the  universe,  seen 
only  by  the  watchful  eye — the  "  still  small 
voices"  from  the  eternal  world,  heard  only  by 
the  willing  and  attentive  ear :  it  is  possible, 
sad  experience  proves,  amid  the  din  and  dis- 


138  THE    INVISIBLE    GOD. 

traction  of  earthly  things,  to  remain  blind  and 
deaf  to  these  eternal  realities.  And  as  with 
the  truth  of  God,  so  is  it  with  the  claims  of  His 
law.  The  unholy  are  not  forced  into  obedience 
by  any  overwhelming  interposition  of  the  Law- 
giver. No  audible  voice  from  the  heavens 
alarms  the  sinner  in  his  career  of  wickedness. 
No  lightning  of  vengeance  shoots  athwart  his 
path,  nor  frown  of  visible  wrath  darkens  the 
sky  over  his  head.  No  portentous  form  passes 
before  him,  to  blast  him  with  the  sight  of  the 
incensed  Majesty  he  scorns.  Creation  pre- 
serves an  awful  stillness,  an  apparent  indiffer- 
ence, around  the  transgressor,  so  that  it  is 
possible  for  men  to  forget  and  contemn  the 
Almighty,  or  to  deem  Him  "  altogether  such  an 
one  as  themselves." 

But  in  order  to  the  maintenance  of  such  an 
economy,  it  is  plainly  necessary  that  God  should 
remain  invisible.  If  God  were  seen,  refusal  to 
believe  would  be  impossible ;  if  there  were  an 
immediate  manifestation  of  the  awful  presence 
of  the  world's  Almighty  Ruler,  disobedience 
would  be  madness,  and  yet  obedience  would  be 


THE    INVISIBLE    QOD.  139 

no  longer  the  sign  of  love.  Scepticism  and 
faith,  impiety  and  virtue,  would  alike  come  to 
an  end.  The  holiness  of  the  saint  would  be  no 
longer  the  triumph  of  faith  over  uncertainty; 
the  very  energies  of  wickedness  would  be  par- 
alysed in  the  sinner's  breast.  The  great  Master 
of  the  Household  has  for  a  while  withdrawn, 
and  left  His  servants  without  any  visible  in- 
spection, that  by  their  diligence  or  remissness 
in  His  absence  their  fidelity  may  be  tested. 
But  His  reappearance  would  put  an  end  to  the 
trial ;  for  the  most  careless  servant,  alike  with 
the  most  dutiful  and  devoted,  bestirs  himself 
when  the  master's  step  is  heard  on  the  thresh- 
old, or  the  watchful  eye  of  a  visible  authority  is 
fixed  upon  him.  A  time,  indeed,  is  coming, 
when,  by  such  a  visible  manifestation  of  His 
person,  the  moral  Governor  of  the  universe  shall 
put  a  period  to  probation,  and  when  the  secret 
Witness  shall  become  the  open  and  Omniscient 
Judge.  Of  that  time  it  is  written  that  then 
"  every  eye  shall  see  Him,  and  they  also  which 
pierced  Him ;"  that  the  faithful  shaU  "  behold 
His  face  in  righteousness,  and  be  satisfied  with 


140  THE    INVISIBLE    GOD. 

His  likeness,"  and  the  unbelieving  call  on  the 
"  rocks  and  mountains  to  fall  on  them,  and  hide 
them  from  the  face  of  Him  that  sitteth  on  the 
throne."  But  meanwhile,  in  calm  and  unbroken 
stillness,  the  economy  of  trial  proceeds,  and  the 
Almighty  Ruler  hides  His  person,  and  "holds 
back  the  face  of  His  throne." 

Equally  does  the  invisibility  of  God  seem  to 
be  connected  with  the  aspect  of  the  present  life 
as  a  state  of  training  or  discipline.  Our  con- 
dition in  this  world  is  that  of  beings  who  are 
undergoing,  not  merely  a  process  of  trial  by 
which  their  future  destiny  is  to  be  decided,  but 
also  a  process  of  training  by  which  they  are  to 
be  fitted  for  it ;  and  the  immediate  manifestation 
of  God  to  the  soul  is  reserved  till  that  process 
be  complete.  The  faculty  by  which  God  is  to 
be  discerned  is  yet,  even  in  the  holiest  of  men, 
imperfect  and  undeveloped,  and  to  the  imma- 
ture moral  sensibility  the  full  vision  of  God,  if 
possible  at  all,  would  be  intolerable  as  the  blaze 
of  the  noonday  sun  to  the  weak  or  diseased 
organ  of  sight.  For  it  must  be  considered  that, 
in  order  to  the  perception  and  enjoyment  of  spir- 


THE    INVISIBLE    GOD.  141 

itual  objects,  there  must  be  a  previous  prepara- 
tion in  the  soul  of  the  percipient.  To  know 
and  appreciate  Mind — its  greatness,  goodness, 
beauty — there  must  be  a  kindred  spirit,  a  type 
of  these  same  qualities  in  the  soul  of  the  be- 
holder. The  irrational  animal  recognises  his 
master's  person;  but  that  which  truly  consti- 
tutes the  man — the  mind,  spirit,  character — is, 
and  ever  must  be,  to  the  lower  nature,  invisible. 
Thought,  reason,  purity,  reverence — intellectual 
and  moral  qualities,  though  incessantly  displayed 
before  it,  are  a  blank  to  the  mere  animal ;  and 
before  it  can  perceive  such  qualities  it  must  be- 
come possessed  of  them ;  it  must  be  raised  to 
rationality  before  it  can  know  and  appreciate 
the  rational.  So  again,  a  child  or  a  man  of 
grovelling  and  uncultured  mind,  though  living 
in  immediate  contact  with  one  of  lofty,  thought- 
ful, refined  nature,  cannot  truly  be  said  to  see 
or  know  him.  Present  to  each  other  from  day 
to  day,  it  is  yet  only  a  bodily  contiguity  which 
obtains  between  natures  so  opposite ;  there  is 
no  spiritual  communion  or  recognition,  no  vision 
of  soul  by  soul.  Above  all,  moral  natures  must 


142  THE     INVISIBLE    GOD. 

be  like,  in  order  to  know  each  other.  To  the 
impure,  the  sensual,  the  selfish,  the  perception 
of  the  holy  and  pure  is  an  impossibility.  Amidst 
worldly  and  evil  natures,  holiness  isolates  the 
good.  Selfishness  is  a  non-conductor  of  the  di- 
vine. In  the  closest  local  proximity  to  the  un- 
holy a  pure  and  heavenly  spirit  is  removed  more 
widely  beyond  their  range  of  vision  than  if 
oceans  rolled  between  them  ;  it  preserves  amidst 
them  a  divine  incognito.  And  before  the  veil 
can  be  dropped,  and  the  pure  soul  reveal  its  in- 
ner beauty  to  the  morally  defiled,  the  latter  must 
needs  undergo  a  complete  renewal  of  nature,  a 
transformation  and  discipline  into  kindred  good- 
ness. Now,  much  more,  without,  holiness,  must 
it  be  impossible  to  see  God.  No  external  vision 
or  revelation  could  disclose  the  Infinitely  Holy 
to  natures  imperfect  and  sinful.  They  might  be 
taken  to  heaven,  and  stand  beside  the  everlast- 
ing throne,  yet  would  the  lustrous  purity  of  its 
great  Occupant  be  all  dark  and  unapparent  to 
them.  Divine  Being,  in  its  wondrous  manifesta- 
tions, might  play  around  the  unrenewed  mind, 
but  it  would  be  as  a  luminous  atmosphere  bath- 


THE    INVISIBLE    GOD.  143 

ing  blind  eyes,  or  sweet  music  rippling  round 
deaf  ears ;  the  heavenly  effluence  could  not  pass 
inwards,  could  wake  no  thrill  of  appreciation,  no 
sympathetic  delight  within  the  soul.  There  must, 
in  short,  be  something  godlike  in  us  before  we 
can  see  and  know  God  ;  we  must  be  "  like  Him" 
before  we  can  "  see  Him  as  He  is."  And  into 
this  divine  affinity,  this  penetrative  moral  in- 
sight, it  is  one  great  end  of  the  Christian's  life 
on  earth  to  train  him.  By  every  holy  deed,  by 
every  spiritual  aspiration,  by  each  sacrifice  of 
inclination  to  duty,  of  passion  to  principle,  of  the 
wayward  human  will  to  God's,  the  spiritual  in- 
stincts of  the  believer  are  becoming  more  refined, 
his  spiritual  perceptions  more  acute.  Not  one 
fervent  prayer,  not  one  act  of  earnest  thoughtful 
intercourse  with  God  in  holy  ordinances,  but  is 
strengthening  the  wing  of  aspiration  and  purify- 
ing the  eye  of  faith, — training  the  spirit  to  rise 
nearer  to  the  region  of  eternal  light  and  to  bear 
its  divine  effulgence  with  more  undazzled  gaze. 
The  time  will  come  when  this  process  shall  be 
completed — when  love  shall  be  refined  from  all 
admixture  of  selfishness — when  purity  freed 


144  THE    INVISIBLE    GOD. 

from  all  disturbing  objects,  shall  quiver  true  to 
the  centre  of  right,  and  the  soul  to  its  inmost 
depths,  in  heart,  breath,  and  being,  assimilated 
to  God,  shall  be  prepared  to  reflect,  without  one 
dimming  shadow,  the  beams  of  infinite  beauty. 
But  meanwhile,  and  so  long  as  aught  of  earthly 
imperfection  adheres  to  it,  not  only  is  the  soul 
unprepared  for  the  full  enjoyment  of  God,  but 
it  is  probable  that  immediate  vision  would  in- 
volve emotions  too  overwhelming  for  its  feeble 
capacities.  As  there  is  a  degree  of  light  which, 
to  human  eye,  is  equivalent  to  darkness;  so 
there  are  thoughts  and  conceptions  under  which 
man's  feeble  apprehension  sinks,  and  emotions 
too  big  for  human  heart  to  hold.  Even  in  our 
earthly  experience  there  have  been  occasions  in 
which  great  and  sudden  illapses  of  feeling — the 
joy,  for  instance,  of  unexpected  meetings  with 
lost  or  long-absent  friends,  or  the  thrilling  sense 
of  escape  from  seemingly  inevitable  danger  or 
death — have  proved  too  much  for  the  heart's 
capacity  of  emotion,  and  the  weight  of  rapture 
has  broken  the  cup  which  it  filled.  Indeed  it  is 
just  because  the  greatest  minds  approach  most 


THE    INVISIBLE    GOD.  145 

nearly  the  limits  of  human  reason,  and  converse 
with  thoughts  which  strain  by  their  grandeur 
the  very  largest  capacity  of  thinking,  that  great 
wit  is,  proverbially,  to  madness  near  allied.  But 
all  thoughts,  all  emotions,  possible  to  man  on 
earth,  make  but  slight  demand  upon  his  powers 
compared  with  those  which,  were  the  barriers 
thrown  down  that  now  shut  out  God  and  eter- 
nity, would  come  rushing  in  upon  the  soul! 
What  mind,  what  heart,  would  be  able  to  en- 
dure such  august  revelation  ?  Surely  we  may 
well  believe  that  such  a  vision  is  only  for  the 
soul  that  has  been  trained,  purified,  enlarged  by 
long-continued  fellowship  with  God  on  earth; 
that  while  our  spiritual  education  is  yet  incom- 
plete, it  is  in  mercy  that  the  curtain  of  sense  is 
kept  drawn,  and  that  there  is  compassion  to  our 
earthly  weakness  in  the  law,  apparently  so 
stern,  "  that  no  man  shall  see  God  at  any  time." 


Caird. 


itetation  of  ilje  |iiimible 

PART    SECOND. 


"  No  man  hath  seen  God  at  any  time  ;  the  only  begotten  Son, 
which  is  in  the  bosom  of  the  Father,  He  hath  declared  Him." 

JOHN,  i.  18. 

No  immediate  knowledge  or  vision 
SERM.  IV.  1  ..  , 

of  God,   then,  is   possible  in   our 

present  state  of  being.  But  provision  has  been 
made  for  the  attainment  of  a  mediate  or  repre- 
sentative knowledge  of  Him.  Of  the  invisible 
God>  Jesus  Christ  is  the  image  or  manifestation; 
or,  as  the  text  expresses  it,  "  The  only  begotten 
Son,  which  is  in  the  bosom  of  the  Father,  he 
hath  declared  Him." 

The  obvious  import  of  these  words  is,  not  that 
Jesus  Christ  has  told  or  taught  us  verbally  who 
and  what  God  is,  but  that  in  His  own  person 
and  life  He  is  the  silent  inarticulate  manifesta- 
tion of  God  to  the  world.  A  child  may  declare 
or  describe  to  you  the  appearance  and  character 
of  his  father;  a  pupil  may  tell  you  of  his 


THE     INVISIBLE     GOD.  147 

teacher  ;  an  author  may  give  an  account  of  him- 
self in  his  book ;  but  there  may  be  in  each  of 
these  cases  an  involuntary  and  indirect  descrip- 
tion, much  more  clear  and  emphatic  than  the 
direct  one.  For  in  his  writings,  the  author, 
especially  if  he  be  an  earnest  writer,  uncon- 
sciously portrays  himself,  so  that  we  may  know 
as  much  of  the  heart  and  soul  of  a  favorite 
author  by  familiarity  with  his  books  as  if  we 
had  lived  for  years  in  personal  intercourse  with 
him.  So  the  pupil  has  caught  the  revered 
master's  manner ;  or  the  child  bears,  not  only 
in  his  person,  but  in  his  temper,  habits,  senti- 
ments, prevailing  tone  of  thought  and  feeling,  a 
strong  family-likeness  to  the  parent;  and  though 
there  may  be  much  in  the  father  which,  from 
inferiority  of  talents  or  attainments,  the  charac- 
ter of  the  child  may  be  inadequate  to  represent, 
yet,  according  to  his  measure,  he  may  convey  to 
us  a  better  idea  of  what  the  father  is  than  by 
any  express  and  formal  description  of  him  we 
could  attain. 

Now,  so  it  is  in  the  case  before  us.     The  in- 
finitely wise  and  holy  One  by  personal  inter- 


148 


THE     MANIFESTATION     OF 


course  man  has  never  known ;  but  there  is,  if 
we  may  so  speak,  a  book  in  which  the  whole 
mind  and  heart  of  God  is  written — a  living 
epistle  or  Word  of  God,  which  may  be  read  and 
known  of  men.  The  divine  Father  dwells  in  in- 
accessible light ;  but  from  His  presence  one  hath 
visited  our  earth,  the  exact  reflection  of  the 
Father's  being  and  character,  the  "  brightness  of 
His  glory  and  the  express  image  of  His  person." 
Let  us  contemplate  this  divine  portraiture,  this 
celestial  light  shining  through  an  earthly  me- 
dium,— let  us  behold  "in  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ 
the  light  of  the  knowledge  of  the  glory  of  God." 

How  does  Jesus  manifest  the  Father?  He 
does  so,  I  answer,  by  His  person,  by  His  life 
and  character,  and  especially  by  His  sufferings 
and  death. 

By  the  constitution  of  His  person,  Jesus  is  to 
us  a  manifestation  of  God.  The  incarnation,  the 
mysterious  embodiment  of  the  divine  in  the  form 
of  the  human,  meets  a  deep  necessity  of  our 
nature,  supplying,  as  it  does,  to  our  feeble  ap- 
prehensions, a  visible,  palpable  object  on  which 
they  may  fix  in  the  effort  to  think  of  God,  and 


THE     INVISIBLE'GOD.  149 

to  our  sympathies  and  affections  in  the  endeavor 
to  love  Him.*  For  every  one  must  have  felt 
how  difficult  it  is  to  form  any  conception  of  a 
pure  and  infinite  spirit,  on  which  the  mind  can 
rest  with  satisfaction,  how  much  more  difficult 
so  to  realise  such  a  being  as  to  cling  to  him  with 
a  simple  human  love.  We  need  the  thought  of 
God  to  be  to  us  a  thought  of  power  and  persua- 
siveness— an  idea,  not  after  which  the  mind, 
even  in  its  loftier  and  more  reflective  moods, 
must  strain  with  conscious  effort,  but  which  can 
be  summoned  up  instantly,  at  any  moment,  a 
spell  of  potent  influence  amidst  the  pressing 
temptations  of  the  world.  But  the  idea  of  a 
pure  Spiritual  Essence,  without  form,  without 
passions,  without  limits,  pervading  all,  compre- 
hending all,  transcending  all,  is  too  vague  and 
abstract  for  common  use.  It  may  furnish  lofty 
exercise  for  philosophic  minds,  but  it  eludes  the 
intellectual  grasp  of  those  of  rougher  mould ;  it 
may  visit  the  soul  in  quiet  and  meditative  hours, 
but  the  ethereal  vision  vanishes  when  we  turn 

*  See  this  subject  fully  discussed  in  Archbishop    Whatley'a 
Essays. 


150  THE     MANIFESTATION     OF 

where  its  presence  is  most  needed,  amid  the 
coarser  cares  and  conflicts  of  our  daily  life.  Be- 
sides, as  I  have  said,  the  mere  abstract  concep- 
tion of  the  Spiritual  God  is  not  less  foreign  to 
our  human  sympathies  and  affections  than  re- 
mote from  our  finite  apprehensions.  The  devout 
heart  yearns  after  a  Personal  God.  It  craves 
for  something  more  than  the  works  of  God,  how- 
ever replete  with  proofs  of  His  power  and  glory ; 
it  wants  to  get  near  Himself.  Its  instinctive 
desire  is  after  a  Father  and  a  Friend — a  loving 
ear  into  which  its  sorrows  may  be  poured — a 
loving  heart  on  which  its  weariness  may  rest. 
But  Omnipresence,  Omnipotence,  Omniscience, 
Being  without  form  or  place,  Existence  without 
beginning  or  end,  Eternal  Hest  without  change 
or  emotion — these  in  their  very  sublimity  con- 
stitute a  notion,  which  tends  to  repel  rather  than 
to  attract,  to  overwhelm  and  crush  rather  than 
gently  to  raise  and  foster  our  human  sympathies 
and  desires.  Our  mortal  feebleness  shrinks  from 
it  in  trembling  awe.  The  heart  cannot  feed  on 
sublimities.  We  cannot  make  a  home  of  this 
cold  magnificence ;  we  cannot  take  Immensity 


THE     INVISIBLE     GOD.  151 

by  the  hand.  The  soul  lost  in  such  contempla- 
tions, like  a  trembling  child  wandering  on  some 
mountain  solitudes,  longs  amidst  all  this  vastness 
and  grandeur  for  the  sound  of  some  familiar 
voice  to  break  the  stillness,  or  the  sight  of  some 
sheltered  spot  in  which  it  may  nestle  with  the 
sense  of  friendliness  and  security. 

Now  that  which  is  thus  the  deep-felt  want  of 
our  natures,  is  most  fully  and  adequately  met 
in  the  Person  of  Jesus  Christ.  For  here  is 
One  whom,  while  we  may  reverence  and  adore 
as  God,  we  can  think  of  as  clearly,  and  love  as 
simply,  trustingly,  tenderly,  as  the  best  known 
and  loved  of  our  earthly  friends.  Here  is  a 
point  around  which  our  shadowy  conceptions 
may  condense,  a  focus  towards  which  our  aim- 
less aspirations  may  tend.  Here  we  have  set 
before  us  the  Boundless  limited  in  form,  the 
Eternal  dwelling  in  time,  the  Invisible  and 
Spiritual  God  revealed  in  that  Word  of  Life 
which  human  eyes  have  seen  and  human  hands 
have  handled.  No  longer  when  we  read  or 
muse  or  pray,  need  our  minds  be  at  a  loss,  our 
thoughts  wander  forth  through  eternity  in  search 


152  THE    MANIFESTATION     OF 

of  a  Living  God.  To  Him  who  lived  among  us, 
breathed  our  common  air  and  spoke  our  human 
speech,  loved  us  with  a  human  heart  and 
healed  and  helped  us  with  human  hands — to 
Him,  as  God,  every  knee  may  bow,  and  every 
tongue  confess.  No  longer  in  our  hidden  joys 
and  griefs,  in  our  gratitude  and  our  contrition, 
in  our  love  and  in  our  sorrow,  when  our  full 
hearts  long  for  a  heavenly  confidant,  to  whom 
as  to  no  earthly  friend  we  may  lay  bare  our 
souls,  need  we  feel  as  if  God  were  too  awful  a 
Being  to  obtrude  upon  Him  our  insignificance, 
or  to  offer  to  Him  our  tenderness  or  our 
tears.  "  Come  unto  Me,"  is  the  invitation  of 
this  Blessed  One,  so  intensely  human  though  so 
gloriously  divine — "  unto  Me,"  in  whose  arms 
little  children  were  embraced,  on  whose  bosom 
a  frail  mortal  lay ;  "  unto  Me,"  who  hungered, 
thirsted,  fainted,  sorrowed,  wept,  and  yet  whose 
love  and  grief  and  pains  and  tears  were  the 
expression  of  emotions  felt  in  the  mighty  heart 
of  God — "  Come  unto  Me,  all  ye  that  labor  and 
are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 
Not  merely,  however,  by  the  constitution  of 


THE    INVISIBLE    GOD.  153 

His  Person,  but  also  by  the  moral  beauty  of  His 
character  and  life,  does  Jesus  Christ  declare  or 
manifest  the  unseen  God.  God  is  mirrored  in 
the  moral  being  of  Christ.  In  that  pure  and 
lofty  nature  there  was  exhibited  an  image  or 
likeness  of  the  Holy  and  Spiritual  God,  such  as 
the  world  before  had  never  witnessed.  Of  all 
God's  works  the  soul  of  man  is  that  by  which 
He  can  best  be  manifested,  by  its  structure  it 
is  the  most  transparent  medium  of  the  Divine. 
There  is,  indeed,  much  in  God  which  humanity, 
even  in  its  purest  and  loftiest  type,  is  inade- 
quate to  represent.  There  is  much  in  a  great 
painting  which  the  engraving  taken  from  it  fails 
to  convey  to  the  eye  :  for,  though  it  may  be  an 
accurate  representation  of  the  drawing,  it  tells 
nothing  of  the  beauty  and  harmony  of  color  in 
the  original.  There  is  much  in  the  glorious 
landscape,  or  the  living  animated  countenance, 
which  the  sun-picture,  however  correct  up  to  its 
measure,  leaves  unexpressed :  lines,  form,  con- 
tour, relative  proportions,  may  be  accurately 
rendered,  but  the  color,  the  expression,  the  va- 
riety, the  life,  cannot  be  arrested  and  repro- 


154  THE     MANIFESTATION     OF 

duced,  even  by  the  limner  power  of  light.  So 
there  is  that  in  the  nature  of  the  Infinite  God 
which  no  copy  graven  on  a  finite  soul,  however 
noble — no  reflection  caught  and  fixed  on  the 
page  of  a  human  life,  however  holy  and  beauti- 
ful, can  in  the  very  nature  of  things  fully  ren- 
der. Yet,  though  the  finite  can  never  be  an 
exhaustive  representation  of  the  Infinite,  of  all 
finite  manifestations  of  God,  a  perfect  soul,  a 
pure  and  holy  mind,  would  be  the  noblest  and 
the  best.  God  can  be  imaged  in  a  great  and 
holy  life,  as  He  cannot  be  by  the  grandest  ob- 
jects which  the  material  universe  contains.  If 
the  soul  of  a  little  child  were  morally  stainless, 
in  that  feeble  tiny  thing  which  a  rude  breath,  it 
might  seem,  could  crush,  there  would  be  a 
nobler  and  nearer  representative  of  God,  than 
in  all  the  combined  splendors  of  revolving  suns 
and  systems.  For  of  a  spirit  a  spiritual  being 
alone  can  be  the  true  portraiture.  .  Matter  can 
be  moulded  into  the  likeness  of  matter,  mental 
and  moral  glory  can  be  reflected  and  repre- 
sented only  by  a  mind.  There  may  be  some- 
thing of  God  discoverable  in  "  the  light  of  set- 


THE    INVISIBLE    GOD.  155 

ting  suns,  and  the  round  ocean,  and  the  living 
air,  and  the  blue  sky ;"  but  a  living,  thinking, 
loving  soul,  has  in  it  that  which  mute  and  ma- 
terial things,  however  noble,  can  never  possess — 
a  direct  affinity  with  His  own  spiritual  nature. 
Man  alone,  of  all  God's  works  in  the  universe, 
is  made  "  in  His  own  image,  after  His  own  like- 
ness ;"  and  therefore,  if  God  would  reveal  Him- 
self to  us,  the  form  under  which  the  revelation 
can  best  be  given  is  that  of  a  human  character 
and  life. 

But  in  all  ordinary  specimens  of  humanity 
the  medium  has  become  sullied,  dim,  distorted, 
so  that  the  heavenly  light  cannot  shine  through 
it,  or,  if  at  all,  only  brokenly  and  fitfully. 
Only  once  in  its  history  has  the  world  wit- 
nessed a  perfect  human  nature,  a  flawless, 
stainless,  unmarred  soul.  Only  once  has  hu- 
manity formed  a  medium  through  which,  in 
its  unmingled  brightness  and  beauty,  the  moral 
glory  of  God  might  pour  its  beams.  In  the 
profound  yet  unconscious  wisdom,  in  the  serene 
purity,  in  the  tenderness,  the  forbearance,  the 
persevering  love,  the  combined  magnanimity  and 


166  THE     MANIFESTATION     OF 

lowliness  of  that  faultless  life  of  Jesus,  we  "  be- 
hold, as  in  a  glass,  the  glory  of  the  Lord."  As 
we  ponder  the  record  of  His  wondrous  history 
who  shrank  with  the  recoil  of  Infinite  Holiness 
from  those  unuttered  thoughts  of  evil  which 
only  Omniscience  could  discover,  the  mind  is 
borne  upwards  to  Him  who,  while  He  searches 
the  hearts  of  the  children  of  men,  yet  is  of 
purer  eyes  than  to  behold  iniquity.  As  we  fol- 
low in  His  mission  of  unwearied  beneficence, 
that  gentle  compassionate  being  in  whom  sorrow 
ever  found  its  best  consoler,  and  penitence  its 
pure,  yet  pitying  friend ;  as  we  note  how,  where- 
ever  He  came,  the  cry  of  the  wretched  awaited 
Him, — wherever  He  went,  the  blessings  of  them 
that  were  ready  to  perish  followed  His  steps  ; 
how  the  hungry  blessed  Him  for  food,  the  home- 
less for  shelter,  the  heavy-laden  for  rest ;  how, 
one  touch  from  His  hand  and  the  frozen  blood  of 
the  leper  flowed  with  the  warm  pulse  of  health, — 
one  word  from  His  lips,  and  the  eyes  of  the 
blind  gleamed  back  their  gratitude  upon  Him ; 
how,  too,  far  deeper  ills  than  these — the  pangs 
of  conscious  guilt,  the  woes  of  the  troubled  con- 


THE     INVISIBLE     GOD.  157 

science,  the  incurable  wound  of  remorse,  the  in- 
ner maladies  that  oftenest  baffle  mortal  skill, 
found  ever  in  Him  their  most  tender  yet  most 
potent  healer  ;  and  finally,  as  we  observe  in  the 
agent  of  all  this  wondrous  working,  a  simplicity, 
a  self-forgetfulness,  a  certain  calm  unobtrusive- 
ness,  that  in  His  mightiest  acts  bespeaks  no  ef- 
fort and  courts  no  observation  or  applause  ;  as 
we  witness  all  this  prodigality  of  goodness  and 
majestic  ease  of  power,  does  not  the  mind  in- 
voluntarily ascend  to  that  Being  whose  name  is 
Almighty  Love, — does  not  the  exclamation  rise 
spontaneously  to  the  lip,  "  Surely  God  is  here  ?" 

There  is  yet  one  other  aspect  in  which  the 
manifestation  of  God  in  Christ  Jesus  may  be 
contemplated — viz. :  that  which  is  presented  by 
His  sufferings  and  death. 

To  our  human  conceptions,  the  noblest  ex- 
pression of  love  is  that  in  which  it  assumes  the 
form  of  suffering  or  self-sacrifice.  Affection  for 
an  earthly  friend  is  then  most  beautiful  when 
it  appears  in  the  aspect  of  self-devotion, — of 
personal  cost  and  endurance  voluntarily  borne 
on  behalf  of  its  object.  Integrity,  Piety,  Rev- 


158  THE     MANIFESTATION    OF 

erence  for  truth  or  goodness,  ever  call  forth  our 
deepest  veneration  when  they  are  seen  with- 
standing the  shock  of  calamity,  unmoved  by 
pain  and  hardship,  and  calmly  submitting  to 
every  conceivable  sacrifice  rather  than  that  truth 
should  be  tampered  with  or  rectitude  infringed. 
In  order,  therefore,  to  our  connecting  with  the 
character  of  God,  this  our  grandest  human  ideal 
of  love  and  holiness,  it  was  necessary  that  there 
should  be  granted  to  us  a  manifestation  of  the 
Infinite  Jehovah,  in  some  such  form  as  that  we 
could  conceive  of  Him  as  submitting  to  suffer- 
ing, subjecting  Himself  to  cost,  undergoing  sa- 
crifice for  the  salvation  of  souls,  and  for  the 
preservation  inviolate  of  the  honor  of  truth  and 
righteousness. 

Now,  nowhere  else  than  in  the  sufferings  and 
self-sacrifice  of  Him  who  was  Deity  Incarnate 
could  such  a  manifestation  be  afforded ; — by  no 
other  act  of  divine  beneficence  could  this  expres- 
sion of  love  in  God  be  reached.  For  no  mere 
gift  of  benignity  can  be  conceived  of  as  impov- 
erishing a  divine  giver,  or  requiring  a  personal 
sacrifice  on  the  part  of  One  who  has  the  re- 


THE    INVISIBLE    GOD.  159 

sources  of  the  universe  at  His  disposal.  The 
beauty  and  bounty  which,  with  so  lavish  and 
unwearied  munificence,  God  has  for  ages  been 
scattering  over  the  face  of  creation,  have  not 
left  Him  the  poorer — have  not  detracted  one 
iota  from  His  boundless  wealth.  The  ceaseless 
stream  of  blessing  leaves  the  inexhaustible  foun- 
tain as  capable  of  flowing  still.  The  beams  of 
beneficence  poured  from  the  everlasting  sun  di- 
minish not  its  power  to  shine.  The  gift  of  a 
world  were  no  sacrifice  to  Him  who  has  but  to 
speak,  and  worlds  of  rarer  beauty  and  glory  fall 
from  His  open  hand.  In  creation  and  providence, 
in  short,  there  is  never  conveyed  to  the  mind 
any  sense  of  effort — any  impression  of  expense 
or  sacrifice  on  the  part  of  the  Infinite  Creator. 

But  it  is  different  when  we  turn  to  the  sacri- 
fice of  Christ.  Viewed  merely  as  the  gift  of 
God  to  man,  in  Christ  Jesus  we  behold  the  In- 
finite Benefactor  surrendering  for  our  sake,  from 
the  treasury  of  His  goodness,  that  of  which  even 
He  possessed  no  equivalent,  and  which  by  no 
stretch  of  Omnipotence  could  even  He  replace. 
God  had  but  one  Christ.  Of  this  possession  of 


160  THE     MANIFESTATION     OF 

Deity  none  but  itself  could  be  its  parallel.  The 
noblest  creation  of  God  on  earth  is  a  soul,  but 
all  other  souls  are  imperfect — God  had  in  all  the 
universe  but  one  perfect  soul,  and  that,  with  all 
its  inestimable  wealth  of  thought  and  love  and 
purity,  He  who  alone  knew  its  worth  yielded  up 
for  us.  There  was  but  one  noble  vessel  from 
the  potter's  hand  that  ever  remained  in  its  pure 
beauty,  grace,  and  symmetry,  unmarred,  and 
that  was  cast  for  us  to  dishonor  and  ruin.  There 
was  but  one  spotless  lamb  in  the  flock,  and  that 
the  only  one,  the  last,  the  best,  was  for  us  de- 
voted to  destruction.  The  great  Father  had  but 
one  Son,  one  gentle,  holy,  loving-hearted  child, 
and  Him  for  us  He  surrendered  to  ruffian  and 
murderous  hands.  But  in  Jesus  we  behold 
more  than  a  gift  of  Deity  to  man, — in  Him  we 
see  Deity  giving  Itself  for  man.  In  the  sacri- 
fice of  Christ  there  is  that  of  which  we  are  per- 
mitted to  conceive  as  the  sacrifice  of  One  who 
was  Himself  divine,  as  the  self-devotion  of  God 
for  the  salvation  of  His  creatures.  For  the  ob- 
literation of  a  guilty  past  and  the  opening  up  of 
a  glorious  future  to  the  world,  no  meaner  price 


THE     INVISIBLE     GOD.  161 

would  avail  than  the  sacrifice  of  Deity  Incar- 
nate, and  that  price  was  paid.  There  was  here, 
as  we  are  permitted  to  think  of  this  most  won- 
drous event  in  the  history  of  the  universe,  the 
abandoning  of  power  by  Omnipotence,  the  re- 
nunciation of  authority  by  Him  who  rules  the 
world,  the  stooper  of  the  Author  and  Sustainer 
of  life  to  weakness,  pain,  and  death.  In  that 
eye  that  for  us  was  tearless  with  anguish,  there 
was — mysterious  thought ! — the  glance  of  Om- 
niscience ;  in  that  bosom  which  heaved  with 
strange  emotion,  there  was  a  woe  that  Deity 
could  feel ;  the  wail  of  pitiless  sorrow  that  broke 
from  that  awful  sufferer's  lips  had  in  it  the  ut- 
terance  of  the  very  voice  of  God.  0  surely,  if 
only  by  infinite  sacrifice  can  infinite  love  be  ex- 
pressed, the  dying  Jesus  is  to  us  the  sublime 
manifestation  of  the  invisible  God  ! 


C|e  Stolitarhttss  <tf  Christ's 


"  I  have  trodden  the  wine-press  alone." 

ISAIAH,  Ixiii.  3. 

THERE  is  always  a  certain  degree 

.    V. 

of  solitude  about  a  great  mind. 
Even  a  mere  human  being  cannot  rise  pre- 
eminently above  the  level  of  his  fellow-men, 
without  becoming  conscious  of  a  certain  solitari- 
ness of  spirit  gathering  round  him.  The  lofti- 
est intellectual  elevation,  indeed,  is  nowise  in- 
consistent with  a  genial  openness  and  simplicity 
of  nature  ;  nor  is  there  anything  impossible  or 
unexampled  in  the  combination  of  a  grasp  of 
intellect  that  could  cope  with  the  loftiest  ab- 
stractions of  philosophy,  and  a  playfulness  that 
could  condescend  to  sport  with  a  child.  Yet 
whilst  it  is  thus  true  that  the  possessor  of  a  great 
mind  may  be  capable  of  sympathising  with,  of 
entering  kindly  into  the  views  and  feelings,  the 
joys  and  sorrows  of  inferior  minds,  it  must  at 
the  same  time  be  admitted  that  there  is  ever  a 


CHKIST'S   SUFFERINGS.  163 

range  of  thought  and  feeling  into  which  they 
cannot  enter  with  him.  They  may  accompany 
him,  so  to  speak,  a  certain  height  up  the  moun- 
tain, but  there  is  a  point  at  which  their  feebler 
powers  become  exhausted,  and  if  he  ascend  be- 
yond that,  his  path  must  be  a  solitary  one. 

What  is  thus  true  of  all  great  minds  must 
have  been,  beyond  all  others,  characteristic  of 
the  mind  of  Him  who,  with  all  His  real  and 
very  humanity,  could  "  think  it  no  robbery  to 
be  equal  with  God."  Jesus  was  indeed  a  lonely 
being  in  the  world.  With  all  the  exquisite 
tenderness  of  his  human  sympathies, — touched 
with  the  feeling  of  our  every  sinless  infirmity, 
— with  a  heart  that  could  feel  for  a  peasant's 
sorrow,  and  an  eye  that  could  beam  with  ten- 
derness on  an  infant's  face, — He  was  yet  one 
who,  wherever  He  went,  and  by  whomsoever 
surrounded,  was,  in  the  secrecy  of  His  inner 
being,  profoundly  alone.  You  who  are  parents 
have,  I  dare  say,  often  felt  struck  by  the  re- 
flection, what  a  world  of  thoughts,  and  cares, 
and  anxieties  are  constantly  present  to  your 
minds,  into  which  your  children  cannot  enter. 


164  THE     SOLITARINESS     OF 

You  may  be  continually  amongst  them,  holding 
familiar  intercourse  with  them,  condescending 
to  all  their  childish  thoughts  and  feelings,  enter- 
ing into  all  their  childish  ways, — yet  every  day 
there  are  a  thousand  things  passing  through 
your  mind,  with  respect,  for  instance,  to  your 
business  or  profession,  your  schemes  and  pro- 
jects, your  troubles,  fears,  hopes,  and  ambitions 
in  life,  your  social  connections,  the  incidents 
and  events  that  are  going  on  in  the  world 
around  you, — there  are  a  thousand  reflections 
and  feelings  on  such  matters  passing  daily 
through  your  mind,  of  which  your  children 
know  nothing.  You  never  dream  of  talking  to 
them  on  such  subjects,  and  they  could  not  un- 
derstand or  sympathise  with  you,  if  you  did. 
There  is  a  little  world  in  which  the  play  of  their 
passions  is  strong  and  vivid,  but  beyond  that 
their  sympathies  entirely  fail.  And  perhaps 
there  is  no  spectacle  so  exquisitely  touching  as 
that  which  one  sometimes  witnesses  in  a  house 
of  mourning — the  elder  members  of  the  family 
bowed  down  to  the  dust  by  some  heavy  sorrow, 


c HEIST'S  SUFFERINGS.  165 

whilst  the  little  children  sport  around  in  uncon- 
scious playfulness. 

The  bearing  of  this  illustration  is  obvious. 
What  children  are  to  the  mature-minded  man, 
the  rest  of  mankind  were  to  Jesus.  Nay,  such 
an  illustration  falls  far  short  of  conveying  to  us 
an  adequate  representation  of  the  measureless 
inferiority  of  all  other  minds  to  that  mighty, 
mysterious  Spirit  that  dwelt  in  the  bosom  of 
Jesus.  "  He  was  in  the  world,  and  the  world 
was  made  by  Him,  yet  the  world  knew  Him 
not."  "  The  Light  shone  in  darkness,  and  the 
darkness  comprehended  it  not."  He  was  a 
Being  born  from  a  loftier  sphere,  and  living  on 
a  grander  scale  than  the  other  sons  of  men. 
He  had  nothing  in  common  with  the  spirit  of 
the  times  in  which  He  lived.  His  views,  prin- 
ciples, motives,  associations,  object  of  life,  were 
not  those  of  His  own  nation,  nor  of  any  land  or 
clime  on  earth :  they  were  drawn  from  the  in- 
finite, the  eternal.  Nothing  can  be  clearer, 
from  the  simple  narrative  of  the  Gospels,  than 
that  to  those  among  whom  the  earthly  life  of 
Jesus  was  spent,  he  was  an  unintelligible  being ; 


166  THE     SOLITARINESS    OF 

that  they  could  not  comprehend  Him,  however 
much  they  might  be  constrained  to  love  Him. 
He  moved  among  a  narrow-minded,  grovelling, 
sensual  race,  breathing  a  spirit  of  ineffable  pu- 
rity and  holiness.  Cast  upon  an  age  and  among 
a  people  intensely  selfish,  in  a  state  of  society 
where  the  conflicting  passions  of  hostile  classes 
and  races  surrounded  him  with  an  atmosphere 
of  bigotry  and  contention,  His  mind  was  ever 
calmly  revolving  designs  of  universal  benev- 
olence, of  self-sacrificing  love  to  all  mankind. 
And  whilst  His  whole  life  passed  away,  whilst 
every  day,  and  almost  every  hour  of  it,  was 
spent  in  intercourse  with  those  whose  minds 
never  travelled  beyond  the  petty  circle  of  their 
own  national  prejudices  and  passions,  His  inner 
being  was  yet  ever  filled  with  thoughts  that 
wandered  through  eternity,  that  communed  with 
invisible  intelligences,  that  mused  upon  the  af- 
fairs and  destinies  of  the  universe.  Oh,  what 
depths  were  there  in  that  mighty  spirit  which 
none  around  could  fathom  !  What  ineffable 
joys  and  mysterious  sorrows,  unintelligible  to 
the  beings  with  whom  He  consorted  as  to  the 


CHRIST'S  SUFFERINGS.  167 

veriest  children  !  The  seclusion  of  the  wilder- 
ness could  not  have  increased  an  isolation  like 
His.  He  was  solitary  amid  crowds.  He 
"trod"  the  path  of  life  "alone,  and  of  the  peo- 
ple there  was  none  with  Him." 

The  thought  which  I  have  now  suggested  to 
your  minds,  with  reference  to  the  entire  life  and 
earthly  experience  of  Jesus,  I  shall  take  occa- 
sion from  the  text  to  follow  out  a  little  further 
with  reference  to  one  particular  part  of  that  ex- 
perience— His  sorrows. 

The  person  who  utters  the  words  before  us  is 
commonly  understood  to  be  none  other  than  Mes- 
siah, of  whose  return  in  triumphant  mien  from 
the  conquest  of  His  enemies  the  context  gives 
a  glowing  description.  There  passes  before  the 
eye  of  the  prophet  the  vision  of  a  glorious  being, 
a  solitary  warrior,  with  blood-soiled  garments, 
and  the  flush  of  victory  on  his  brow.  And  in 
answer  to  the  inquiries  of  the  dazzled  and  aston- 
ished spectator,  He  announces  Himself  as  one 
who  had  stood  forth  in  the  defence  of  His  people, 
who  alone  and  single-handed  had  borne  the  fear- 
ful onset  of  their  foes,  and  whose  garments,  be- 


168  THE     SOLITARINESS     OF 

sprinkled  as  from  the  treading  of  the  wine-press, 
were  dyed  with  the  blood  of  the  slain.  Now, 
without  any  more  minute  exposition  of  the  pas- 
sage, and  indeed  without  vindicating  too  posi- 
tively this  application  of  it,  I  shall  take  occasion 
from  the  words  of  the  text  to  lead  your  minds 
to  one,  as  I  think,  most  instructive  and  sugges- 
tive view  of  the  sufferings  of  our  blessed  Lord, — 
their  solitariness.  By  this  I  mean  not  that  they 
were  solitary  or  peculiar  as  being,  propitiatory 
sufferings,  though  in  this  they  were  indeed  dis- 
tinguished from  the  sufferings  of  all  other  men. 
Nor  do  I  mean  merely  that  they  were  sufferings 
of  extraordinary  and  unexampled  severity, 
though  that  also  is  true.  But  the  point  to  which 
I  would  confine  your  attention  is  this,  that  there 
were  connected  with  the  nature  of  this  mysteri- 
ous sufferer  certain  features  or  conditions  which 
rendered  His  sorrows  such  as  no  other  of  our 
race  could  endure, — certain  facts  which  gave  to 
them,  as  to  His  whole  history,  a  character  of  ele- 
vation and  awfulness,  beyond  the  range  of  mere 
human  experience.  So  that  forasmuch  as  amid 
all  the  sons  and  daughters  of  sorrow  that  crowd 


CHRIST'S    SUFFERINGS.  169 

the  page  of  human  history,  Jesus  yet  stands 
forth  "  the  Man  of  Sorrows/'— the  Solitary  Suf- 
ferer of  humanity  ;  passing  through  a  strife 
which  none  but  He  might  encounter,  bearing  in 
His  lonely  spirit  the  awful  pressure  of  a  sorrow 
which  none  of  mortals  save  Himself  ever  bore, 
He  might  indeed  with  emphasis  proclaim,  "  I 
have  trodden  the  wine-press  alone." 

Following  out,  then,  the  view  which  I  have 
now  indicated,  I  shall  endeavor  to  set  before  you 
one  or  two  of  those  circumstances  which  ren- 
dered Jesus  solitary  in  His  sufferings. 

I.  One  of  the  most  obvious  of  these  is,  that  all 
his  sorrowings  and  sufferings  were,  long  ere  their 
actual  occurrence,  clearly  and  fully  foreseen. 
They  were  anticipated  sorrows.  Every  calamity 
and  affliction  that  awaited  Him  was  disclosed  to 
Him  in  all  its  certainty  and  severity  from  the 
very  commencement  of  His  history,  and  the  ter- 
rible anticipation  of  approaching  evil  accom- 
panied Him  through  His  whole  career  on  earth. 
This,  obviously,  is  one  feature  of  the  mournful 
history  of  Jesus  in  which  He  stands  alone — one 

Calrd.  8 


170  THE     SOLITAEINESS     OF 

condition  of  His  earthly  experience  which  must 
have  lent  a  bitterness  to  His  sorrows  from  which 
those  of  all  other  mortal  sufferers  are  exempt. 
For  need  I  remind  you,  what  a  great  alleviation 
of  the  troubles  and  ills  of  life  it  is  that,  in  the 
great  majority  of  cases,  they  are  unforeseen.  In 
the  ordinary  arrangements  of  Providence  a  veil 
of  obscurity  hides  from  us  the  threatening  as- 
pect of  approaching  evil,  so  that  the  happiness 
of  the  passing  hour  is  not  damped,  nor  the  se- 
verity of  present  sorrows  increased,  by  the 
gloomy  prospect  of  the  future.  Thus  even  the 
man  on  whom  life's  calamities  and  afflictions  fall 
the  thickest,  is  permitted  to  find  in  the  very  weak- 
ness and  ignorance  of  our  nature  a  refuge  from 
its  troubles  ;  for  while  memory  is  gradually  re- 
laxing its  hold  of  past  evils,  hope  is  left  free  to 
people  the  future  with  all  fancied  good.  May  I 
not  appeal  for  confirmation  of  this  to  your  own 
experience  ?  There  are  few  or  none  now  hear- 
ing me  who  are  not,  in  greater  or  less  degree, 
acquainted  with  grief.  Whether  they  came  up- 
on you  in  the  form  of  personal  sickness  and  pain, 
or  of  domestic  trials  and  afflictions,  or  of  sad  and 


CHRIST'S   SUFFERINGS.          171 

bitter  bereavements,  or  of  disappointments  and 
reverses  of  worldly  fortune, — in  whatever  shape 
they  came,  you  have  all,  I  doubt  not,  had  your 
sorrows  and  troubles  in  life,  and  not  one  of  you 
but,  if  you  live  much  longer,  will  in  all  proba- 
bility have  many  more  to  encounter  yet.  But  I 
beseech  you  to  consider  how  very  much  it  would 
have  added  to  the  severity  of  any  trial  through 
which  you  have  passed,  if  you  could  have  fully 
and  certainly  foreseen  it  long  before  it  came.  Not 
to  speak  of  the  petty  vexations  and  trials  that 
are  matters  of  daily  experience,  and  the  antici- 
pation of  which  would  steal  away  much  of  the 
sunshine  of  life,  think  what  has  been  the  great- 
est sorrow  of  your  past  existence.  Perhaps  there 
are  not  a  few  before  me  who  can  instantly  lay 
the  finger  of  memory  on  that  spot,  so  black  in 
the  retrospect,  where  that  dire  bereavement,  or 
that  terrible  and  crushing  blow  of  misfortune, 
fell  suddenly  upon  them.  Imagine,  then,  what  it 
would  have  been  to  have  been  able,  for  long 
years  and  months  before,  to  foresee  its  certain 
approach.  With  what  heart  could  you  have  en- 
tered into  that  enterprise,  so  enthusiastically  and 


172  THE    SOLITARINESS     OF 

perseveringly  prosecuted,  could  you  have  antici- 
pated the  disastrous  issue — the  frustration  of 
your  efforts,  and  disappointment  of  your  fondest 
hopes  ?  Or  when  enjoying  sweet  intercourse 
with  that  much-loved  friend,  or  looking  forward 
brimful  of  hope,  to  years  of  happiness  in  his 
society,  what  a  stern  interruption  of  your  happi- 
ness and  your  visions  had  it  been,  if  the  dark- 
ness had  rolled  away  from  the  future  of  your 
life,  and  the  hour  been  revealed  close  at  hand 
when  that  loved  one  would  be  torn  from  your 
side  !  And,  need  I  add,  to  vivify  this  thought 
in  your  minds,  that  as  with  the  past,  so  shall  it 
be  with  the  future  experience  of  us  all.  There 
are,  I  doubt  not,  more  than  one  or  two  in  this 
assembly,  happy,  light-hearted,  tranquil,  it  may 
be,  who,  if  they  could  but  look  into  the  secrets 
of  one  little  year  before  them,  would  find  their 
happiness  sadly  disturbed.  Whom  do  you  love 
most  in  this  world  ?  In  whose  society  and  in- 
tercourse are  you  taking  most  delight  ?  Who  is 
that  friend,  that  brother,  or  sister,  or  husband, 
or  wife,  or  child,  on  whom  your  hopes  and  affec- 
tions are  chiefly  centred,  and  from  whom  you 


CHRIST'S    SUFFERINGS.  173 

would  feel  it  would  be  agony  to  part  ?  What 
if  the  irresistible  conviction  were  forced  upon 
your  mind  that,  ere  a  few  months  have  come 
and  gone,  that  friend  will  be  by  your  side  no 
more,  the  anguish  of  separation  will  be  gone 
through,  and  you  will  be  left  alone  ?  Or  what 
if  I  could  single  out  one,  or  another,  or  more, 
among  this  auditory,  and  convey  to  them,  by 
some  mysterious  yet  irresistible  means,  the  in- 
telligence that  on  a  certain  day  and  month  in 
the  coming  year  they  shall  be  hurried  away 
from  life  by  some  painful  and  humiliating  ma- 
lady ?  Alas  !  with  such  a  terrible  prescience  of 
evil  resting  on  our  souls,  there  would  be  fewer 
light  hearts  and  happy  homes  amongst  us  to- 
night. Perhaps,  these  or  similar  events  may 
actually  be  in  reserve  for  some  of  us ;  but  "  we 
know  not  what  shall  be  on  the  morrow."  God 
has  mercifully  hid  from  us  the  future ;  and  if 
such  calamities  await  us,  they  do  not  disturb  our 
present  tranquillity,  for  they  await  us  unknown. 
I  have  enlarged  on  this  thought  at  what  may 
appear  too  great  a  length,  that  I  might  bring  out 
more  fully  one  element  of  the  sufferings  of  our 


174  THE     SOLITARINESS     OF 

blessed  Lord,  which  is  perhaps  not  so  frequently 
dwelt  upon  as  others.  For,  let  me  now  ask  you 
to  reflect,  that  that  ignorance  of  futurity  which 
mercifully  tempers  the  severity  of  all  human  ills, 
was  an  alleviation  of  sorrow  unknown  to  Jesus. 
"  I  could  never  have  gone  through  it,"  we  often 
hear  men  exclaim,  who  have  passed  through  pro- 
tracted struggles  or  hardships — "  I  could  never 
have  gone  through  it,  had  I  known  the  half  of 
what  lay  before  me."  But,  whatever  were  the 
hardships  of  His  sorrowful  life,  whatever  the 
mysterious,  nameless  agonies  of  His  death,  this 
unenviable  fore-knowledge  of  them  all  belonged 
to  Jesus.  Even  the  smiles  of  infancy,  may  we 
not  almost  say,  were  darkened  by  the  anticipated 
anguish  of  death,  and  in  the  very  slumbers  of 
the  cradle,  He  already  in  fancy  hung  upon  the 
cross.  This,  at  least,  we  do  with  certainty 
know,  that,  from  the  commencement  of  His 
public  ministry,  that  hour  and  power  of  dark- 
ness, that  cup  of  mingled  woes  from  which  at 
last  it  seemed  as  if  His  mighty  spirit  for  a 
moment  shrank,  was  clear  and  full  before  His 
eye.  Words  ever  and  anon  dropped  from  His 


175 

lips  which  showed  how  constantly  this  dread 
thought  was  uppermost  in  His  mind.  Long  ere 
it  came,  for  instance,  He  told  His  disciples,  in 
words  they  could  but  dimly  comprehend,  "  I 
have  a  baptism  to  be  baptised  with,  and  how  am 
I  straitened  till  it  be  accomplished."  When  on 
the  Mount  of  Transfiguration  He  enjoyed  a  brief 
respite  from  His  toils,  in  communion  with  celes- 
tial visitants,  what  was  the  topic  on  which  He 
chose  to  discourse  with  them  ?  "  They  spake," 
we  are  told,  "  of  the  decease  which  He  was  to 
accomplish  at  Jerusalem."  As  the  dreaded  hour 
drew  nearer,  He  took  His  disciples  apart  on  the 
way  to  Jerusalem,  as  if  more  fully  to  unburden 
His  oppressed  spirit,  and  said,  "  Behold  we  go 
up  to  Jerusalem,  and  the  Son  of  Man  shall  be 
betrayed  unto  the  chief  priests  and  scribes,  and 
they  shall  condemn  Him  to  death,  and  shall  de- 
liver Him  to  the  Gentiles,  to  mock,  and  to 
scourge,  and  to  crucify  Him."  And  at  last,  when 
the  traitor  came  to  take  Him,  we  are  told  that 
"Jesus,  knowing  all  things  that  were  to  come 
upon  Him,  went  forth."  Thus,  from  the  very 
dawn  of  His  earthly  ministry,  Jesus  looked  for- 


176  THE     SOLITARINESS     OF 

ward  to  its  dreadful  close.  Thick-strewn  with 
sorrows  as  was  every  step  of  His  onward  path, 
His  eye  gazed  on  that  which  made  Him  almost 
unconscious  of  lesser  ills — the  awful  gloom  that 
hung  over  its  termination,  ever  deepening  to  the 
end.  And  when  we  think  how  this  projected 
shadow  of  coming  evil  continually  brooded  over 
His  soul,  how  by  this  awful  foresight  of  futurity 
he  was  separated  off  from  the  common  race  of 
men,  and  how  He,  so  gentle,  so  tender,  so  ready 
to  sympathise  with  others,  had  thus  upon  His 
own  soul  a  weight  of  woe  which  none  might 
share,  a  sorrow  which  none  might  soothe, — may 
we  not  hear,  as  if  an  echo  of  the  cry  of  His 
agony,  those  mournful  words,  "  I  have  trodden 
the  wine-press  alone  ?" 

II.  Another  circumstance  which  distinguishes 
the  sorrows  of  Jesus  from  those  of  all  ordinary 
men,  and  which  gives  to  this  greatest  of  sufferers 
an  aspect  of  solitariness  in  their  endurance,  is 
this,  that  they  were  the  sorrozvs  of  an  infinitely 
pure  and  perfect  mind.  No  ordinary  human 
being  could  ever  suffer  as  Jesus  did,  for  His  soul 


CHRIST'S    SUFFERINGS.  177 

was  greater  than  all  other  souls ;  and  the  mind 
that  is  of  largest  compass,  or  that  is  cast  in  the 
finest  mould,  is  ever  the  most  susceptible  of 
suffering.  As  it  is  the  cup  that  is  deepest  that 
can  be  filled  the  fullest — as  it  is  the  tree  that 
rears  its  head  the  highest  that  feels  most  the 
fury  of  the  storm,  so  it  is  the  soul  that  is  largest 
and  most  exalted  that  is  capable  of  the  greatest 
sorrows.  A  little,  narrow,  selfish,  uncultured 
mind,  is  liable  to  comparatively  few  troubles. 
The  range  alike  of  its  joys  and  its  sorrows  is 
limited  and  contracted.  It  presents  but  a  nar- 
row target  to  the  arrows  of  misfortune,  and  it 
escapes  uninjured,  where  a  broader  spirit  would 
be  "  pierced  through  with  many  sorrows."  The 
higher,  indeed,  any  being  rises  in  the  scale  of 
existence,  the  greater  becomes  the  character  and 
range  of  its  pains  as  well  as  its  pleasures,  its 
susceptibility  of  suffering  as  well  as  of  enjoy^ 
ment.  The  insect,  in  the  summer  breeze,  brim- 
ful  of  mere  animal  happiness,  is  exposed  to  mere 
animal  privation  and  pain.  Its  life  is  but  one 
long  sensation.  The  little  child  again  has  fewer 
capacities  of  suffering,  fewer  cares,  and  anxie- 

8* 


178  THE     SOLITARINESS     OF 

ties,  and  troubles,  than  the  mature-minded  man, 
— the  savage,  than  the  civilised  being, — the 
ignorant,  unrefined,  unreflecting  man,  than  the 
man  of  high  intellectual  and  moral  culture,  of 
thoughtfulness,  and  refinement  of  taste  and  feel- 
ing. In  short,  it  is  the  great  law  of  life  that 
every  advancing  power,  every  improvement, 
physical,  intellectual,  moral  or  spiritual,  which  a 
man  gains,  carries  with  it,  as  the  necessary 
penalty,  an  additional  liability,  a  new  degree  of 
exposure,  to  surrounding  evils. 

To  see  this  more  clearly,  conceive  a  man  of 
cultivated  mind,  of  intellectual  tastes  and  habits 
of  thought,  compelled  to  take  up  his  abode 
among  a  household  of  coarse,  frivolous,  low- 
minded-  persons — forced  to  spend  his  days 
among  them,  to  listen  to  their  empty  or  degrading 
talk,  and  conform  to  their  gross  way  of  life, — 
and  would  not  the  very  culture  and  refinement 
his  mind  had  received,  render  it  more  keenly 
susceptible  of  the  miseries  of  such  a  position ; 
and  the  purer  and  more  elevated  his  taste  and 
sympathies,  would  not  existence  in  such  an 
atmosphere  become  all  the  more  intolerable  ? 


CHRIST'S  SUFFERINGS.  179 

In  the  same  way,  imagine  one  of  genial  and 
affectionate  nature,  tender-hearted,  and  alive  to 
the  wants  and  sufferings  of  others,  becoming 
the  spectator  of  scenes  and  sufferings  of  heart- 
rending distress  and  wretchedness,  or  forced  to 
witness  the  bodily  sufferings  or  mental  anguish 
of  those  who  are  very  dear  to  him ;  would  not 
the  pain  experienced  from  such  sights  be  all  the 
more  intense  because  of  the  gentleness  and  be- 
neficence of  the  nature  of  him  who  beheld 
them  ?  Does  not  the  nobleness  of  the  patriot's 
or  the  philanthropist's  nature  assert  itself  in  the 
very  bitterness  and  oppression  of  spirit  with 
which  he  contemplates  the  wrongs  and  the 
wretchedness  of  his  fellows  ?  Is  it  not  the  un- 
enviable compensation  for  the  curse  of.  a  cold, 
hard  heart,  that  its  possessor  can  walk  unmoved 
amidst  scenes  of  severest  sorrow,  or  behold 
with  unfeeling  composure  sufferings  at  which 
other  hearts  are  bleeding  ? 

Or,  once  more,  turn  your  thoughts  to  one  who 
has  begun  to  receive  that  highest  of  all  culture, 
whose  soul  is  undergoing  that  noblest  of  all  de- 
velopments, the  renewing  influence  of  Divine 


180  THE    SOLITARINESS    OF 

grace — and  is  it  not  so  that  he  too  by  reason 
of  that  spiritualising  of  his  inner  being — that 
change  which  has  expanded  his  intellect,  and 
chastened  his  affections,  and  opened  up  to  him 
a  new  range  of  exalted  and  ineffable  enjoyments 
— is  it  not  so  that  he  too  becomes  susceptible, 
in  such  a  world  as  this,  of  pains  and  sorrows 
unfelt  before  ?  The  blind  know  not  the  pains 
of  sight,  nor  the  deaf  of  sound,  nor  the  dead 
and  insensible,  of  living  and  breathing  men. 
And  so  the  quickening  touch  of  God's  Spirit 
wakes  the  believer's  soul  from  a  state  of  moral 
insensibility  and  death,  to  one  in  which  the  in- 
ner eye  can  be  pained  by  deformities,  and  the 
ear  by  discords,  and  the  spiritual  nature  by 
sickness  and  troubles,  of  which  it  hitherto  had 
been  all  unconscious.  He  knew  nothing  before, 
in  his  unconverted  state,  of  the  joy  and  peace 
of  believing,  the  deep,  tranquil  happiness  of  a 
soul  that  is  at  one  with  God,  and  that  reposes 
on  the  sense  of  its  Maker's  love ;  but  as  little 
did  he  know  of  that  deeper  sorrow  that  gathers 
over  the  believer's  soul  in  times  of  failing  and 
spiritual  desertion,  when  the  light  of  God's 


CHRIST'S  SUFFERINGS.  181 

countenance  is  hid  from  him,  and  he  sinks 
under  the  sense  of  his  heavenly  Father's  frown. 
In  the  days  that  are  past,  he  was  incapable  of 
that  new  and  exquisite  relish  for  all  that  is 
true,  and  pure,  and  good,  for  all  things  that 
are  lovely  and  lovable,  which  has  risen  within 
his  soul ;  but  this  very  relish  for  what  is  good 
has  brought  with  it  a  more  sensitive  shrinking 
from  sin  in  every  form,  has  rendered  conscience 
more  tender,  and  the  least  appearance  of  evil 
the  cause  of  deepest  and  most  painful  self-con- 
demnation. What  self-loathing  and  prostration 
of  spirit  does  one  who  has  advanced  far  in  the 
divine  life  experience  when  betrayed  into  sins, 
that  to  a  careless  mind  would  not  cost  a 
thought?  Finally,  there  has  arisen  in  the  be- 
liever's mind  a  new  delight  in  the  progress  of 
truth  and  goodness,  a  hitherto  unexperienced 
longing  for  the  success  of  Christ's  cause  on 
earth ;  but  at  the  same  time,  and  as  the  coun- 
terpart of  this  feeling,  he  becomes  conscious  of 
a  degree  of  pain  and  sorrow  heretofore  unknown 
at  the  sight  of  the  prevailing  ungodliness  and 
wickedness  of  men.  He  can  sympathise  now 


182  THE     SOLITARINESS    OF 

as  he  could  not  before  in  the  lamentation, 
"  Rivers  of  waters  run  down  mine  eyes  because 
they  keep  not  thy  law."  And  the  more  he 
grows  in  holiness,  in  devotion  to  the  will  of 
God,  and  in  appreciation  of  the  importance  of 
eternal  things,  so  much  the  more  will  he  be 
grieved  and  disquieted  by  the  sins  of  those 
around  him.  What  anguish  does  a  Christian 
parent  feel  at  the  exhibitions  of  thoughtlessness 
and  irreligion  in  the  conduct  of  his  children,  or 
a  Christian  friend  when  he  beholds  those  who 
are  dear  to  him  living  in  open  neglect  of  God, 
and  in  utter  indifference  to  the  grandest  inter- 
ests of  life  !  And  all  these,  again,  we  say,  are 
causes  of  disquietude,  of  which  an  unrenewed 
mind  knows  nothing.  They  are  sorrows  that 
assert  the  greatness  of  the  soul  that  feels  them. 
They  are  the  pangs  and  stragglings  of  a  nature 
that  is  becoming  too  noble  for  the  world  to 
which  it  is  confined,  and  which  show,  in  pro- 
portion to  their  intensity,  the  grandeur  of  the 
destiny  that  awaits  it. 

But  now  if  all  this  be  so, — if  the  principle  I 
have  now  endeavored  to  illustrate,  do  indeed 


CHIIIST'S  SUFFERINGS.  183 

hold  good,  that  the  nearer  a  soul  approaches  to 
perfection,  the  more  sensitive  does  it  become  to 
the  evils,  pains,  sorrows,  sins,  that  surround  it 
in  such  a  world  as  this, — surely,  enough  has 
been  said  to  show  how  far  beyond  all  human 
experience,  how  far  even  beyond  all  human  com- 
prehension must  have  been  the  sufferings  of  the 
soul  of  Jesus.  His  was  indeed  the  gentlest, 
noblest,  purest  spirit  that  ever  dwelt  in  human 
breast ;  it  had  therefore  a  capability  of  suffer- 
ing, a  cognizance  of  surrounding  evils,  an  ex- 
quisitely-strung susceptibility  to  sorrow,  such  as 
soul  of  man  besides  never  felt.  His  soul's  de- 
light was  in  holiness ;  it  recoiled  with  deep  and 
instinctive  abhorrence  from  sin  :  upon  the  pure, 
burnished  mirror,  so  to  speak,  of  that  spotless 
nature,  the  slightest  breath  of  outward  impurity 
would  have  gathered  dimness.  What,  then, 
must  it  have  been  for  him  to  live  in  such  a  world 
as  this — to  be  exposed  for  thirty  years  to  the 
foul  atmosphere  of  its  ungodliness  and  evil ! — 
His  soul's  delight  was  in  happiness.  The  most 
tender-hearted  spirit  of  human  philanthropy,  the 
most  generous  benefactor  of  his  species,  never 


184  THE    SOLITARINESS    OF 

felt  such  a  shrinking  from  the  sight  of  the  woes 
and  sufferings  of  mankind  as  Jesus  did.  What, 
then,  must  it  have  been  for  that  gentlest,  ten- 
derest,  most  loving-hearted  Saviour,  to  walk 
through  such  a  world  of  wretchedness  as  this, — 
to  take  in  with  His  omniscient,  world-wide 
glance,  the  tears,  and  griefs,  and  pains,  and 
struggles,  and  sicknesses,  and  deaths,  with  which 
his  Father's  once  happy  world  was  rife, — to  hear 
as  it  were,  the  great  forlorn  wail  of  humanity 
borne  to  his  ear  upon  the  four  winds  of  heaven ! 
— His  soul's  delight,  once  more,  was  in  His 
Father's  love.  Never  human  heart  was  capable 
of  loving,  was  large  enough  to  love,  with  such  a 
love  as  His.  The  infant  clings  not  to  the  moth- 
er's breast  with  such  confiding  joy  as  His  when 
reposing  that  mighty  spirit  upon  the  bosom  of 
Infinite  Love.  The  radiant  earth  opens  not  in 
beauty  and  gladness  beneath  the  gleaming  sun, 
as  did  His  rejoicing  spirit  in  the  sunshine  of  Je- 
hovah's love.  That  love  cheered  Him  in  lan- 
guor, sustained  Him  in  weariness,  soothed  Him 
in  sorrow,  nerved  Him  in  the  thought  of  pain, 
and  shame,  and  agony,  and  death.  What,  then, 


CHRIST'S  SUFFERINGS.  185 

must  it  have  been  to  Jesus  to  feel,  even  for  a 
moment,  the  sense  of  that  love  withdrawn — to 
undergo,  through  human  pain  and  weakness,  an 
impression  as  if  of  that  countenance  darkening 
over  Him,  whose  light  had  been  the  very  life  of 
His  being  from  all  eternity  !  Conceive  of  the 
sun  struck  out  of  yonder  heavens,  and  the  world 
suddenly  overwhelmed  with  the  horror  of  per- 
petual darkness  and  cold.  Imagine  the  sustain- 
ing providence  of  God  withdrawn  from  the  uni- 
verse, and  everything  hurrying  to  desolation  and 
ruin.  But  no  emblem,  no  comparison  can  con- 
vey to  us  but  the  faintest  conception  of  what  it 
was  for  God's  dear  Son,  as  if  God-deserted,  to  die. 

III.  But  the  feelings  of  Jesus  in  contempla- 
ting the  sin  and  wretchedness  of  humanity,  the 
mournful  prevalence  of  evil  in  the  world,  were 
not  those  merely  of  a  most  holy  and  tender- 
hearted human  being  :  let  me  add  as  one  other 
consideration  tending  to  show  how  very  peculiar 
a  sorrow  was  His,  how  very  solitary  Jesus  must 
have  been  in  His  sorrow,  that  it  was — the  sor- 
row of  a  Creator  amid  His  ruined  ivorks. 


186  THE    SOLITARINESS    OF 

The  feelings  of  Jesus,  I  have  said,  in  behold- 
ing, and  living  amidst,  the  moral  ruin  and  deg- 
radation of  mankind,  were  not  those  merely  of 
an  exquisitely  pure  and  sensitive  human  spirit ; 
they  flowed  from  a  far  deeper  and  more  awful 
source.  It  was  not  merely  the  gentle-hearted 
and  pitying  Man  of  Nazareth  that  trod  our  fallen 
world ;  it  was  nothing  less  than  the  world's 
great  Creator  that,  concealed  in  that  humble 
guise,  surveyed  and  moved  for  thirty  years 
amidst  the  ruins  of  His  fairest,  noblest  work, 
lying  wide-spread  around  Him !  For,  though 
this,  indeed,  is  a  thought  into  which  our  imper- 
fect minds  can  but  faintly  and  inadequately  en- 
ter, are  we  not  borne  out  by  Scripture  authority 
in  the  affirmation  that  grief  for  the  moral  ruin 
of  humanity  is  an  emotion  to  which  the  Divine 
mind  is  not  a  stranger?  You  all  remember  that 
remarkable  passage  in  the  Book  of  Genesis,  in 
which  the  mind  of  God  is  represented  as  filled 
with  sorrow  and  indignation  at  the  sad  issue  of 
His  great  creating  work — "  When  God  saw  that 
the  wickedness  of  man  was  great  upon  the  earth, 
and  that  the  imagination  of  the  thoughts  of  his 


CHRIST'S   SUFFERINGS.  187 

heart  was  only  evil  continually,  it  repented  God 
that  He  had  made  man  upon  the  earth,  and  it 
grieved  Him  at  His  heart"  And,  not  to  name 
other  passages  of  a  similar  import,  I  would  only 
remind  you  further  of  that  mysterious  grief  of 
Him  who  was  God  manifest  in  the  flesh,  which 
at  the  threshold  of  His  own  last  sufferings, 
made  Him  almost  lose  sight  of  their  approach- 
ing anguish  in  His  grief  for  the  moral  blindness 
and  hardness  of  His  people.  "When  Jesus 
was  come  near  the  city,"  it  is  written,  "  He 
wept  over  it,  saying,  Oh  that  thou  hadst  known, 
even  thou,  in  this  thy  day,  the  things  that  be- 
long to  thy  peace,  but  now  they  are  hid  from 
thine  eyes !"  On  the  authority  of  the  word  of 
God,  then,  as  well  as  from  the  reason  of  the 
thing,  we  hazard  the  assertion,  that  one  awful 
ingredient  in  the  sufferings  of  that  mysterious 
mourner  must  have  been  grief  for  the  desolation 
of  His  grandest  work — the  anguish  of  spirit 
with  which  for  thirty  years  He  beheld  every- 
where confronting  Him  the  proofs  that  the  soul 
of  man  was  a  ruin. 

There  is  a  sort  of  sentimental   melancholy 


188  THE     SOLITARINESS     OF 

which  gathers  over  the  mind  of  one  who  sur- 
veys the  scene  of  some  great  nation's  bygone 
glory,  now,  it  may  be,  strewn  only  with  wreck 
of  departed  greatness.  When  the  traveller  vis- 
its those  countries  with  which  from  childhood 
his  mind  has  been  accustomed  to  associate 
everything  that  is  noble  and  elevated  in  human- 
ity; when  he  surveys  around  him  the  indica- 
tions of  former  majesty  and  power,  now  long 
passed  away,  or  inspects  those  exquisite  re- 
mains on  which  human  genius  and  art  had 
lavished  all  their  splendor,  now  rudely  marred 
and  defaced  and  hastening  to  inevitable  decay, 
— there  is  a  certain  pensive  sadness  which  not 
unnaturally  passes  over  the  mind,  and  to  which 
many  have  given  expression.  But  surely  an 
emotion  of  a  far  deeper  kind  may  well  be  called 
forth  in  the  thoughtful  mind  when  contempla- 
ting the  mournful  moral  and  spiritual  degrada- 
tion of  humanity,  as  contrasted  with  the  glory 
of  its  original  structure,  and  the  splendors  of 
that  destiny  for  which  it  was  created  ?  What 
are  the  most  exquisite  productions  of  human 
thought  and  toil  compared  with  that  work  on 


CHRIST'S   SUFFERINGS.  189 

which,  even  in  its  ruins,  the  impress  of  Omni- 
potence may  be  traced  ?  What  is  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  noblest  fabrics  reared  by  human 
hand,  in  comparison  with  the  dishonor  and  des- 
ecration of  the  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost? 
What  are  the  overshadowing  of  all  earthly 
greatness,  and  the  extinction  of  all  material 
glory,  in  contrast  with  the  spiritual  and  eternal 
ruin  of  the  soul  of  man  ?  Even  the  body,  the 
mere  tabernacle  in  which  the  soul  resides — even 
the  human  body,  that  fabric  so  curiously  and 
wonderfully  wrought  by  the  hand  of  God,  so 
marred  and  dishonored  by  the  effects  of  sin — - 
even  that,  a  work  which  only  Deity  could 
create,  is  a  work  over  whose  ruin  even  Deity 
might  mourn.  Yet  every  sickbed  by  which 
Jesus  stood,  and  every  sufferer's  cry  He  heard, 
and  every  bier  and  grave  to  which  His  steps 
were  led,  were  to  His  eye  the  ruthless  destruc- 
tion of  another  and  another  glorious  work  of 
God — the  proofs  of  the  triumph  of  the  destroyer 
over  the  results  of  infinite  wisdom  and  skill. 

But  the  destruction  of  the  body  is  insignifi- 
cant in  comparison  with  the  ruin  of  the  soul. 


190  THE     SOLITARINESS     OF 

The  former  is  but  the  dissolution  of  a  thing  of 
material  elements,  the  latter  is  the  deforming 
and  corrupting  of  a  thing  made  in  the  image  of 
God,  partaker  of  a  divine  nature,  and  destined 
for  His  service  and  glory  for  ever.  The  former 
is  but  the  breaking  up  of  insensate  matter,  the 
latter  is  the.  reducing  to  impurity  and  wretched- 
ness of  a  thing  that  shall  survive  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  its  misery  when  the  material  uni- 
verse shall  have  passed  away. 

Shall  we  wonder,  then,  that  the  Creator  of 
such  a  work  as  this — so  noble,  so  deathless,  so 
divine,  should  have  experienced  bitter  grief  for 
its  ruin  ?  When  Jesus  walked  our  world,  His 
eye,  we  may  well  believe,  was  not  arrested  by 
the  bustle  and  importance  of  its  outward  scenes 
and  interests.  From  all  mere  external  things 
His  observation  was  ever  diverted  to  what  from 
all  other  eyes  was  hidden,  the  awful  mystery 
and  moral  deformity  of  the  secret  world  of  souls. 
Could  a  human  being  for  a  single  week  be  in- 
vested with  a  mysterious  power  of  seeing  into 
the  hearts  of  those  around  him,  and  detecting 
all  the  feelings  and  motives  that  are  working  be- 


CHRIST'S   SUFFERINGS.          191 

neath  the  breasts  of  his  fellow-men,  doubtless, 
even  to  man's  imperfect  moral  sensibility,  the 
disclosures  thus  made  would  be  too  horrible  for 
endurance,  and  the  fatal  power  of  inspection 
would  be  gladly  resigned.  But  that  which 
would  be  intolerable  even  to  a  fallen  and  imper- 
fect being,  was  a  spectacle  from  which  the  eye 
of  the  pure  and  holy  Jesus  could  never  for  a 
moment  escape.  All  hearts  were  unveiled  to 
Him.  He  surveyed  not  merely  the  forms  and 
countenances  of  human  beings :  a  thousand  in- 
dications tell  us  that  He  "knew  what  was  in 
man," — that  He  read  their  souls.  And  every- 
where as  He  looked  He  saw  that  soul  that  had 
sprung  a  pure,  holy,  happy  thing  from  His 
hands,  now  filled  with  selfishness  and  pride  and 
envy  and  impurity  and  all  ungodliness  ; — that 
soul  that  had  been  destined  for  the  companion- 
ship of  God  and  angels,  now  ripening  for  the  black- 
ness of  darkness  for  ever !  And  can  we  doubt 
that  His  was  an  anguish  at  the  sight  into  which 
no  finite  mind  can  enter  ?  He  could  feel  for  ex- 
ternal sufferings.  He  looked  up  to  heaven  and 
sighed  for  the  deaf.  He  wept,  and  groaned  in 


192  THE    SOLITAEINESS    OF 

spirit  for  the  dead.  But  what  were  external  suf- 
fering and  death  to  this  ?  To  Him  the  world  was 
strewn  with  a  more  awful  than  material  desola- 
tion— with  the  wreck  of  spiritual  grandeur,  the 
memorials  of  lost  and  ruined  souls.  "  0  my 
Father,"  we  almost  hear  Him  exclaim,  "  is  this 
the  world  over  which  the  morning  stars  sang 
together,  and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for 

joy!" 

Many  reflections  of  a  practical  kind  might  be 
suggested  from  the  train  of  thought  in  which  we 
have  now  been  engaged.  All  such  views  of  the 
sufferings  of  Jesus  are,  for  instance,  most  ob- 
viously suggestive  of  gratitude  for  His  marvel- 
lous self-devotion  on  our  behalf.  For  the  views 
that  have  been  presented  to  us — of  the  myste- 
rious foresight  and  of  the  ineffable  dignity,  be- 
neficence, and  holiness  of  this  greatest  of  suffer- 
ers— ought  surely  to  convey  to  our  minds  a 
most  vivid  impression  of  the  intensity  of  that 
love  He  bore  for  us.  *  The  grandeur  of  the 
sufferer  enhances  the  value  of  the  sufferings. 
The  height  from  which  Jesus  stooped,  the  moral 


CHRIST'S    SUFFERINGS.  193 

glory  of  His  nature,  the  exquisite  purity  and 
serenity  of  that  atmosphere  in  which  He  had 
been  accustomed  to  breathe,  render  it  all  the 
more  astonishing  that  He  should  submit  to  de- 
scend so  low,  and  so  long  for  our  sakes  to  dwell 
in  the  foul  region  of  this  world's  ungodliness 
and  evil.  The  most  delicate  and  sensitive  be- 
ing, trained  from  infancy  in  a  home  of  purity 
and  love,  sheltered  from  the  very  breath  of 
pollution,  and  then  forced  to  live  in  some  haunt 
of  iniquity,  and  among  the  shameless  and  aban- 
doned victims  of  profligacy,  would  not  undergo 
the  transition  with  such  shrinking  abhorrence  as 
did  Jesus  that  transition  which  He  voluntarily 
underwent  for  us.  An  angel  from  the  throne 
of  God  submitting  to  dwell  amid  the  blasphe- 
mies and  wailings  of  hell  would  not  exhibit  a 
spectacle  of  voluntary  humiliation  such  as  His, 
who  stooped  from  infinitude  to  such  a  world  as 
this.  0,  believer,  what  a  love  was  that  which 
braved  and  endured  such  humiliation;  which 
bore  thy  Saviour  onwards  through  such  degra- 
dation for  thee ! 

And  let  it  vivify  this  feeling  of  gratitude  still 

Calrd.  0 


194  THE     SOLITARINESS     OF 

more  to  reflect  on  the  view  that  has  been  before 
us  of  the  anticipdtive  character  of  all  His  suffer- 
ings. The  love  of  Jesus  for  His  people  was  no 
transient  feeling.  The  sufferings  and  sacrifices 
He  endured  were  not  the  effect  of  some  passing 
impulse  of  affection.  They  were  not  the  actions 
of  one  who  has  committed  himself  to  an  under- 
taking without  well  weighing  or  knowing  the 
consequences,  and  who  cannot  afterwards  draw 
back.  He  knew  before  all  that  His  love  for 
you  was  to  cost  Him.  In  His  coolest,  calmest 
moments,  if  we  may  so  speak,  His  view  of  all 
the  horrors  of  the  future  were  as  clear  as  when 
on  the  very  point  of  encountering  them;  and 
His  resolution  was  as  firm  and  deliberate  as  His 
knowledge  was  complete.  Human  heroism  has 
performed  deeds  of  daring  valor  in  the  heat  and 
high  excitement  of  the  conflict,  from  which,  had 
they  been  foreseen  in  calmer  hours,  it  would 
have  shrunk  dismayed.  The  voyager  will 
tempt  the  sea  when  its  waves  are  calm  and  its 
aspect  smiling :  could  he  anticipate  the  terrors 
of  the  storm  and  the  shipwreck,  nothing  would 
induce  him  to  embark.  But  the  Lord  Jesus, 


CHRIST'S  SUFFERINGS.  195 

the  Lamb  slain  from  the  foundation  of  the 
world,  had  before  His  prescient  gaze,  amidst 
the  heights  of  glory,  all  the  darkness  of  that 
sea  of  sorrows  through  which  He  must  pass,  as 
clearly  as  when  the  waters  went  over  his  soul : 
yet  was  "  His  love  stronger  than  death — many 
waters  could  not  quench  it."  The  Lord  Jesus 
foresaw  the  fearfulness  of  that  last  conflict  as 
fully  when  in  His  Father's  presence  He  said, 
"  Here  am  I — send  me ;"  "  Lo,  I  come  to  do 
Thy  will,  0  God ;"  as  when,  in  the  very  article 
of  His  agony,  confronting  the  banded  powers  of 
earth  and  hell,  "He  trode  the  wine-press  alone." 
"  Who  shall  separate  us"  from  such  a  love  as 
this? 

Again,  is  not  this  subject/?w^/^  with  a  most 
solemn  warning  to  all  who  are  living  in  careless- 
ness or  indifference  to  the  spiritual  interests  of 
themselves  and  others  ?  What  more  awful  inti- 
mation could  be  conveyed  to  us  of  the  evil  of 
sin,  and  of  the  infatuation  of  those  who  are  in- 
different to  its  fatal  consequences,  than  in  the 
grief  and  sorrow  of  Jesus?  If  you  are  con- 
scious of  little  or  no  anxiety  about  the  soul 


196  THE     SOLITARINESS     OF 

and  its  eternal*  interests,  consider  that  you  are 
unconcerned  about  that  which  filled  the  om- 
niscient Saviour  with  dismay  and  darkness  of 
spirit.  When  the  veteran  in  war  grows  pale  at 
the  sight  of  approaching  danger,  the  inexpe- 
rienced soldier  may  well  tremble.  When  the 
skilful  physician  looks  alarmed  at  the  aspect  of 
the  disease,  it  would  ill  become  the  sick  man  to 
treat  the  symptoms  with  contempt.  And  when 
even  an  omniscient  being  is  overwhelmed  with 
sadness  at  the  contemplation  of  sin.  shall  those 
on  whom  its  fatal  consequences  must  fall  remain 
calm  and  unaffected?  Constantly  surrounded 
by  the  atmosphere  of  moral  evil,  we  cannot 
form  a  right  estimate  of  its  pollution :  but 
Jesus  came  amongst  us  from  the  free,  bright  air 
of  heaven — from  a  region,  and  with  a  soul 
habituated  to  breathe  in  an  element  of  salubrity 
and  purity.  And  shall  it  not  convey  to  us  a 
vivid  impression  of  the  foulness  of  our  spiritual 
state,  when  we  behold  Him  shrinking  with  pain 
and  abhorrence  from  its  contact?  We  cannot 
see,  or  estimate  adequately,  the  future  results 
of  sin ;  but  this  was  One  who  could  lift  the  veil 


CHRIST'S  SUFFERINGS.  197 

and  gaze  upon  the  mysterious  secresies  of  eter- 
nity. We  cannot  follow'  the  departing  sinner 
in  the  hour  of  death,  or  form  the  faintest  esti- 
mate of  the  consequences  of  that  awful  transi- 
tion; but  here  was  a  Being  who  could  look 
beyond  the  brink  of  life,  who  could  not  only 
see,  in  all  its  inherent  repulsiveness  the  guilt 
of  the  sinner  in  this  world,  but  who,  with  that 
eye  before  which  even  "  hell  is  naked,  and  de- 
struction hath  no  covering,"  could  gaze  upon  the 
tremendous  realities  that  await  the  sinner  in  the 
world  to  come.  And  when  we  conceive  Him 
surveying  on  the  one  hand  the  multitudes  of 
giddy,  thoughtless,  infatuated  beings  around 
Him,  engrossed  with  the  affairs  of  the  passing 
hour,  trifling  with  the  grandest  concerns  in  the 
universe — :gay,  sportive,  careless,  hurrying  on 
to  the  verge  of  life;  and  then,  on  the  other 
hand,  turning  to  behold  the  dread  futurity,  the 
awful  gulf  of  ruin  flaming  forth  the  hot  wrath 
of  the  Almighty  God  against  the  impenitent — 
is  there  not  in  this  an  explanation  that  may  well 
appal  the  sinner,  of  the  compassion,  the  grief, 
the  yearning  expostulations  of  Jesus  ?  It  was 


198  THE     SOLITARINESS    OF 

an  awful  testimony  to  the  grandeur  of  the  event 
that  was  taking  place  when,  at  the  death  of 
Jesus,  the  sun  in  heaven  was  darkened,  and 
the  solid  earth  beneath  was  rent ;  but  surely  it 
testifies  to  a  still  more  terrible  catastrophe, 
when  the  face,  not  of  the  sun,  but  the  sun's 
Creator,  is  overshadowed — when,  not  the  mate- 
rial earth  is  moved,  but  the  spirit  of  Him  who 
made  it  is  rent  with  anguish.  Oh,  believe  me, 
it  is  impossible  for  imagination  to  conceive  a 
more  awful  measure  of  the  guilt  and  danger 
of  sin  than  the  grief  of  Jesus. 

But  I  would  suggest,  as  a  final  reflection,  that 
such  views  of  the  sufferings  of  Jesus  afford  to 
every  penitent  soul  the  strongest  encouragement  to 
rely  on  the  Saviour  s  love.  For,  to  name  but  one 
of  several  ways  in  which  this  inference  presents 
itself,  have  we  not  seen  that  all  the  sufferings  of 
Jesus  were  anticipated  sufferings,  and  that  He 
contemplated  from  the  very  beginning  all  the 
tremendous  hardships  of  the  enterprise  in  which 
He  was  to  engage.  Your  salvation,  then,  was 
an  object  which  even  at  such  a  fearful  cost  He 
was  willing  to  seek ;  and  think  you  He  is  less 


CHRIST'S    SUFFERINGS.  199 

willing  to  seek  it  now — now  when  all  hardships 
and  sorrows  are  over,  and  the  price  of  your  re- 
demption has  been  fully  paid  ?  Undeterred  by 
anticipated  sorrows,  undismayed  by  evils  from 
which  every  other  being  in  the  universe  would 
have  shrunk,  He  gave  Himself  to  win  the  prize 
of  life  eternal  for  you, — will  He,  think  you, 
withhold,  or  be  reluctant  to  bestow  that  prize 
upon  you  now  that  His  pains  and  toils  are 
ended,  now  that  He  has  only  to  speak  the  word, 
and  it  is  yours  ?  The  salvation  of  your  soul  was 
an  end  so  glorious,  that  he  was  willing  to  reach 
it  though  the  way  to  it  led  through  blood,  and 
darkness,  and  death, — can  you  entertain  any 
doubt  that  He  is  willing  to  secure  it  now,  when 
nothing  intervenes,  when  every  difficulty  has 
been  overcome,  when  He  has  but  to  stretch  out 
the  hand  of  mercy,  and  the  consummation  of  all 
His  sufferings  is  attained  ? 

Is  there  any  anxious  soul  now  present,  bowed 
down,  it  may  be,  under  the  sense  of  its  own 
guilt  and  hardness  and  insensibility,  so  as  to  be 
unable  to  take  comfort  from  the  message  of 
mercy  ?  Behold  in  this  your  strong  consolation ! 


200  THE    SOLITARINESS     OF 

Whatever  you  are,  however  deplorable  your 
past  guilt,  your  present  coldness  and  hardness 
of  heart,  these  did  not  deter  Christ  from  under- 
taking all  His  anticipated  sufferings  for  you, — 
why  should  they  deter  Him  from  saving  you, 
now  that  His  sufferings  are  ended  for  ever  ? 
Guilty,  impenitent,  ungodly  though  you  are,  to 
save  you,  and  such  as  you,  He  was  willing  to 
endure  the  awful  hiding  of  His  Father's  face, — 
shall  He  be  thought  less  willing  to  save  you 
now,  when,  for  every  redeemed  soul,  He  antici- 
pates that  face  irradiated  with  the  smile  of  in- 
finite and  divine  complacency  ?  He  sought  your 
salvation,  when  to  gain  it  He  needed  to  be  im- 
poverished— •"  to  be  made  poor  that  you  might 
be  rich," — can  He  be  reluctant  to  secure  it  now, 
when  every  soul  that  is  saved  is  another  jewel 
added  to  his  mediatorial  crown, — another  trophy 
of  His  glorious  victory, — a  new  "  portion  of  the 
spoil  divided"  to  Him, — an  accession,  if  that  were 
possible,  to  the  very  wealth  of  heaven  ? 

Away,  then,  with  all  such  dishonoring  doubts 
and  difficulties  !  Shall  the  husbandman,  for  the 
sake  of  |he  harvest,  waste  his  strength,  and  bear 


CHRIST'S  SUFFERINGS.  201 

the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day,  and  then,  when 
the  ripe  corn  tempts  the  sickle,  in  very  wanton- 
ness refuse  to  reap,  and  let  it  be  destroyed  ? 
Shall  the  Lord  Jesus  undertake  to  suffer  for  us, 
—shall  He  actually  toil,  and  groan,  and  grieve, 
and  die  for  us, — and  then  let  the  fruit  of  all  His 
sufferings  be  lost,  and  leave  us  to  perish  in  our 
sins  ?  No,  it  cannot  be.  It  is  impossible  to 
exaggerate  the  certainty  and  freeness  of  that 
salvation  that  is  in  Christ  for  all  who  will  but 
lay  hold  of  it.  It  is  impossible  that  anything  in 
the  universe  can  lie  between  you  and  eternal 
life,  if  you  but  accept  it  as  "  the  gift  of  God 

through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord." 
9* 


f  artidptioit  in  tfje  jSnffmngs  of  Cljrist 

"  Rejoice  inasmucli  as  ye  are   partakers  of  the  sufferings 
of  Christ."— 1  PETER,  iv.  13. 

IT  is  strange  what  a  power  there 
is  in  suffering  to  unite  in  deepest 
intimacy  those  who  have  nobly  borne  it  together. 
No  bond  of  union  so  close  as  the  bond  of  com- 
mon sorrows ;  no  brotherhood  so  deep  and  true 
as  the  brotherhood  of  calamity  and  misfortune. 
It  would  seem  as  if  the  affections  could  never 
be  welded  so  firmly  as  when  they  have  been 
exposed  to  the  fiery  solvent  of  adversity.  Per- 
haps it  is  that  we  never  so  truly  understand 
each  other  as  when  great  and  common  trials 
sound  the  depths  of  our  nature,  and  show  to 
each  what  is  in  a  brother's  heart.  Or  it  may  be 
that  love  is  strengthened  most  of  all  by  the  trials 
and  hardships  endured  for  the  sake  of  its  object. 
But  whatever  be  the  explanation,  there  is,  we 
know,  a  subtle  influence  in  pain  and  sorrow  to 


SUFFERINGS     OF     CHRIST.  203 

knit  fellow-sufferers  heart  to  heart  and  soul  to 
soul,  as  no  participation  in  joy  and  pleasure  can 
ever  unite  them.  The  survivors  of  the  wreck 
who  can  recall  the  days  and  hours  of  danger  and 
exposure,  of  alternating  hope  and  despair  which 
they  bore  together ;  the  remnant  of  the  forlorn 
hope,  who  have  stood  side  by  side  while  shot 
and  shell  were  raining  death  around  them ;  or 
the  few  brave  and  true  hearts  who  together  have 
struggled  through  the  protracted  and  terrible 
siege,  and  whose  friendship  is  cemented  by  a 
thousand  associations  of  sympathy  and  endur- 
ance,— cannot  choose  but  feel  in  each  other  a 
deeper  than  common  interest.  Or  if  we  seek 
an  illustration  from  the  quieter  scenes  of  life,  it 
is  probable  that  the  domestic  affections  never 
grow  so  deep  and  firm  as  when  the  inmates  of  a 
home  have  struggled  on  together  through  years 
of  poverty  and  hardship,  and  can  recall,  perhaps, 
in  more  prosperous  days,  a  long  eventful  history 
of  common  toils  and  sorrows. 

Now,  some  such  thought  as  this  may  have 
been  present  to  the  apostle's  mind  when  he  con- 
gratulated his  suffering  fellow-Christians  on  the 


204  PARTICIPATION    IN    THE 

fact  that  they  were  partakers  of  the  sufferings 
of  Christ.  Fierce  as  was  "  the  fiery  trial  which 
tried  them/'  it  had  this  blessed  consolation,  that 
it  brought  the  sufferers  closer  to  the  heart,  into 
more  perfect  sympathy  with  the  spirit  of  a  suffer- 
ing Lord.  The  secret  depths  of  that  sorrowing 
heart  they  could  better  understand  in  virtue  of 
the  approximation  to  His  grief  which  their  own 
hearts  had  felt,  and  a  fuller  appreciation  of  His 
ineffable  love  could  be  theirs,  when  by  experi- 
ence they  had  learnt  something  of  that  penalty 
of  suffering  and  sacrifice  which  for  them  He  so 
willingly  had  paid.  Kindred  by  the  holy  tie  of 
sorrow,  they  became  thus,  as  it  were,  more 
nearly  related  to  "  the  man  of  sorrows,  and  ac- 
quainted with  grief."  Instead,  therefore,  of  re- 
garding it  as  a  "strange  thing"  that  theirs 
should  be  a  lot  of  suffering  and  trial,  it  would 
rather  have  seemed  unnatural  had  it  been  other- 
wise. Strange  it  would  have  been  had  the  ser- 
vants' cup  been  all  sweetness,  when  the  Master's 
was  one  of  unmingled  bitterness — had  they 
moved  over  a  soft  and  easy  path,  while  He  toiled 
along  a  road  every  step  of  which  was  agony. 


SUFFERINGS     OF     CHRIST.  205 

Nay,  rather,  drinking  the  same  cup,  would  they 
mingle  their  tears  with  His ;  and  over  that  path, 
hard  and  rugged  and  thorny  though  it  was, 
would  they  wish  to  tread,  where  the  print  of 
ffis  bleeding  feet  could  be  discerned  before 
them.  And  therefore,  in  one  word,  did  they, 
because  of  the  deeper  sympathy,  the  more  inti- 
mate nearness  to  Jesus  which  sorrow  bestows, 
rejoice  in  their  participation  of  His  sufferings. 

But  it  is  not  all  kinds  of  suffering  in  which 
we  have  community  with  Jesus.  There  are  sor- 
rows, obviously,  of  which  the  infinitely  pure  and 
holy  Saviour  could  have  no  experience,  and  in 
the  endurance  of  which  no  man  can  appropriate 
the  consolation  of  fellowship  with  Christ.  It 
might  seem,  indeed,  at  first  sight,  as  if  all  sor- 
row endured  by  imperfect  and  guilty  beings  lay 
beyond  the  cognisance  and  sympathy  of  Jesus ; 
for  into  the  bitterness  of  such  sorrow  sin  enters, 
more  or  less,  as  an  ingredient.  Yet  in  the  chap- 
ter preceding  that  from  which  the  text  is  taken, 
the  apostle  speaks  of  Christ  as  "  suffering  for 
sin,"  and  comforts  the  persecuted  and  sorrowing 
Christians  by  the  thought  that  to  this  very  suf- 


206  PARTICIPATION    IN    THE 

fering  of  Christ  their  sufferings  were  in  some 
sort  analogous.  "It  is  better,"  he  writes,  "that 
ye  suffer  in  well-doing  than  in  evil-doing;  for 
Christ  also  hath  once  suffered  for  sins."  It  is 
not,  of  course,  to  be  understood  that  Christians 
can,  in  the  full  sense  of  the  words,  "  suffer  for 
sin"  as  Jesus  did.  Nevertheless,  there  is  that 
in  all  noble  and  Christian  suffering  which  assimi- 
lates the  believer  to  his  suffering  Lord,  and 
qualifies  him  to  "  enter  into  the  fellowship"  of 
Christ's  suffering  for  sin.  Let  us  endeavor, 
therefore,  to  find  out  what  sort  of  suffering  for 
sin  is  possible  to  a  pure  and  holy  nature.  How 
far  may  suffering  for  sin  be  really  noble  and 
worthy?  What  elements  must  we  eliminate 
from  suffering  caused  by  sin  in  forming  our  ideal 
of  suffering  purity  ?  It  is  this  question  to  which, 
with  special  reference  to  the  sufferings  of  Christ, 
I  shall  now  direct  your  thoughts  ;  and  I  shall 
do  so  by  considering  first,  negatively,  what 
Christ  could  not,  and  then  positively,  what  He 
must,  as  a  perfectly  pure  and  holy  Being,  have 
"  suffered  for  sins." 

1.  One  element  of  suffering  for  sin,  and  that 


SUFFERINGS     OF     CHRIST.  207 

a  most  bitter  one,  of  which  Christ  could  have 
no  direct  experience,  is  conscious  guilt.  Wide 
as  the  range  of  its  sympathies  with  the  sinful, 
there  is  a  line  beyond  which  a  nature  which  is 
itself  sinless  can  never  pass.  Large-hearted, 
genial,  all-embracing  in  its  charities,  the  pure 
spirit  of  Jesus  could  yet  never  go  with  fallen 
humanity  in  its  sorrows  one  step  beyond  that 
limit  where  loathing  of  sin  passes  into  remorse. 
Into  that  dismal  region,  overshadowed  by  the 
gloom  of  guilt,  and  where  rage  the  furies  of  an 
avenging  conscience,  He  who  was  "  in  all  points 
tempted  like  as  we  are,  yet  without  sin,"  could 
never  follow  us.  With  whatever  intuitive  cer- 
tainty He  read  the  secrets  of  human  hearts,  with 
whatever  yearning  compassionateness  He  blend- 
ed His  soul  with  their  sorrows,  there  were 
depths  of  guilty  woe  which  that  noble  innocence 
could  never  sound.  Self-loathing,  the  loss  of 
self-respect,  the  sense  of  personal  demerit,  the 
self-disgust  of  satiated  passion,  the  miserable 
weariness  of  a  heart  in  which  the  capacity  but 
not  the  desire  of  impure  delight  has  burned  out 
— these  are  the  feelings  that  constitute  the  most 


208  PAKTieiPATION     IN     THE 

terrible  ingredient  of  the  sinner's  agony,  the 
most  intolerable  woes  which  human  heart  can 
feel;  and  yet  these,  it  is  obvious,  could  never 
cast  their  faintest  shadow  on  the  heart  of  the 
Sinless  One.  As  there  is  a  guilty  rapture,  so 
there  is  a  guilty  dismay,  from  all  personal  ex- 
perience of  which  He  is,  of  necessity,  excluded. 
As  it  were  blasphemy  to  ascribe  to  Him  the 
joys  of  gratified  ambition,  the  dark  delights  of 
satiated  vengeance,  or  glutted  avarice,  or  envy 
glorying  in  a  rival's,  or  hatred  in  a  foe's  discom- 
fiture,— so  equally  impious  were  it  to  attribute 
to  Jesus  the  sorrows  of  wounded  pride,  or  dis- 
appointed lust  or  ambition,  the  rankling  wounds 
of  envy  or  jealousy,  or  the  unavailing  agonies 
of  despair.  Whosoever  of  mortals  is  in  pain,  or 
loneliness,  or  bereavement,  or  grief,  on  the  great 
Consoler  he  can  lean  with  entirest  confidence  of 
sympathy ;  but  whosoever,  yielding  up  his  soul 
to  sin,  is  visited  by  sin's  bitter  fruit  of  guilty  sor- 
row, excludes  himself  from  holy  sympathy, 
averts  from  him  the  tenderest,  noblest  of  mortal 
hearts,  casts  off  the  supporting  arm  of  Jesus,  and 
must  suffer  alone.  With  all  godly  sorrow  Jesus 


SUFFERINGS    OF    CHRIST.  209 

sympathises,  but  He  knows  nothing,  and  never 
can,  "  of  the  sorrow  of  the  world  that  worketh 
death."  • 

2.  Another  element  in  suffering  for  sin,  of 
which  a  perfectly  holy  nature  could  have  no 
experience,  is  a  personal  sense  of  divine  wrath. 
Conscious  guilt,  indeed,  is  but  the  inward  re- 
flection of  divine  wrath,  the  shadow  of  the  dark- 
ened brow  of  God  cast  upon  the  spirit  of  man, 
and  the  soul  that  is  incapable  of  the  former  must 
be  equally  exempted  from  the  experience  of  the 
latter.  Even  in  this  world,  dim  as  are  our  per- 
ceptions of  spiritual  realities,  the  latent  thought 
of  God's  anger — of  a  personal  Majesty  of  the 
heavens  whom  he  has  incensed,  an  infinitely 
Just  and  Holy  One,  whose  dread  indignation  he 
has  incurred — is  one  terrible  ingredient  in  a 
wicked  man's  wretchedness.  And  how  much 
more  terrible  this  element  of  suffering  in  that 
world  where  spiritual  things  are  seen  and  felt  in 
their  real  magnitude.  Before  even  a  fellow- 
man's  indignation  the  guilty  spirit  sometimes 
cowers  in  terror.  It  is  dreadful  for  detected 
impurity  to  meet  the  eye  of  a  revered  parent  or 


210  PARTICIPATION     IN     THE 

friend,  with  all  the  shame  of  discovered  sin 
fresh  upon  it.  The  craven  heart  of  sin  shrinks 
from  the  presence  of  even  earthly  goodness,  and 
will  sometimes  seek  the  suicide's  refuge  rather 
than  encounter  man's  contempt  and  indignation. 
But  man's  anger,  the  indignation  against  sin  of 
earthly  goodness,  is  but  the  imperfect  reflection 
of  God's.  Who  can  tell  what  it  is  to  go  forth 
into  a  drear  eternity,  to  meet  the  awful  front  of 
incensed  Justice — to  stand  a  guilty  thing  sur- 
prised, in  shivering  nakedness  and  shame,  be- 
fore the  flashing  eye  of  God  !  But  this  ob- 
viously is  a  sorrow  altogether  alien  to  Christ's 
experience,  a  woe  which  God's  dear  Son  could 
never  feel.  God  could  never  dislike  or  be  dis- 
pleased with  Christ,  nor  was  it  possible  for  that 
Divine  Innocence  to  experience  for  a  moment 
the  terrible  feeling  of  guilt  cowering  beneath 
God's  anger.  There  is  a  sense,  doubtless,  in 
which  it  may  be  averred  of  Christ,  that  for  His 
redeemed,  and  by  mysterious  implication  of  His 
being  with  theirs,  he  bore  God's  wrath ;  yet 
must  we  ever  exclude  from  our  minds  any  no- 
tion implying  that  Christ  could  think  of  God  as 


SUFFERINGS     OF     CHRIST.  211 

indignant  at  Him.  There  was  no  wrath  going 
forth  against  Him  in  those  dreadful  scenes 
amidst  which  a  world's  iniquities  were  pressing 
most  heavily  upon  Him, — nay,  rather,  it  was 
then,  in  the  very  midst  of  His  agony  for  sin, 
that  God  approved  of  Him  the  most.  Behind 
the  gloom  of  the  cross  the  radiant  smile  of  divine 
complacency  was  beaming  brightest.  And  Je- 
sus knew  and  felt  that  it  was.  He  passed  to 
His  suiferings  with  expressions  of  tenderest  re- 
liance, of  yearning  confidence  in  the  Father's 
love ;  in  the  very  article  of  His  agony  he  felt 
and  said  that  he  was  doing  that  which  was  the 
Father's  will ;  and  on  the  cross,  though  human 
pain  and  weakness  seem  for  a  moment  to  have 
beclouded  His  spirit  with  a  sense  of  forsakenness, 
yet  even  then  His  words  breathed  unwavering 
confidence  in  God's  love  and  favor — the  yearn- 
ing, clinging,  confiding  tenderness  of  a  heart 
that  knows  itself  to  be  loved,  and  incapable  of 
being  deserted.  "  My  God !  My  God  !"  was 
still  His  cry ;  and  His  passing  spirit  He  breath- 
ed away  into  the  Father's  arms,  with  indestruc- 
tible consciousness  of  a  divine  love  and  care  em- 


212  PARTICIPATION     IN     THE 

bracing  Him  — "  Father,  into  Thy  hands  I 
commend  my  spirit !"  No !  beneath  all  the 
outer  perturbation  of  His  history  there  was  a 
deep  abiding  peace — the  peace  of  innocence,  the 
imperturbable  quiet,  of  conscious  purity  resting 
in  the  everlasting  arms.  Betwixt  the  experi- 
ence of  a  guilty  soul  writhing  under  the  frown 
of  God,  and  His,  even  in  His  darkest  hour  of 
sorrow,  there  is  an  impassable  gulf. 

3.  Nor,  finally,  though  Christ  "tasted  of  death 
for  every  man,"  could  He  ever  experience  per- 
sonally that  which  constitutes  to  the  sinner  the 
very  bitterness  of  death — the  fear  of  what  comes 
after  death.  If  death  were  a  mere  sleep,  a  sink- 
ing into  unconsciousness,  its  aspect  to  the  guilty 
would  be  deprived  of  half  its  terror.  The  mere 
pain  of  dying  is  often  far  less  than  the  pain  of 
living.  But  it  is  because  sin  projects  the  shadow 
of  its  own  fear  into  the  future,  because  guilty 
deeds  have  sent  on  witnesses  to  wait  him  be- 
yond the  grave,  that  the  wicked  man  dreads  to 
die.  Take  away  all  fear  of  what  comes  after 
death,  and  most  men  would  meet  it  calmly; 
but  it  is  the  thought  that  they  go,  they  know 


SUFFERINGS     OF     CHRIST.  213 

not  whither,  into  a  world  all  strange,  portentous, 
unknown ;  it  is  the  mystery,  the  gloom,  the  un- 
certainty, the  dim  and  dismal  prevision  of  evil, 
all  the  more  alarming  that  it  is  indistinct- — it  is 
this  that  makes  death  terrible.  But  into  the  dy- 
ing sorrow  of  the  sinner's  Substitute  this  element 
of  suffering  could  not  enter.  The  dying  hour  of 
Jesus  was  disturbed  by  no  fear  of  what  awaited 
him  beyond  the  grave.  There  was  to  Him  no 
brooding  doubt,  no  uncertainty,  no  alarm  hanging 
over  the  unseen  world.  He  was  not  torn  by  the 
relentless  hand  from  a  world  to  which  he  clung, 
to  one  from  which  His  trembling  soul  turned 
away — driven,  struggling,  shuddering,  reluctant, 
over  the  brink  of  life  into  darkness  and  despair. 
On  the  contrary,  death  to  Jesus  was  an  escape 
from  protracted  banishment  to  endless  and  unut- 
terable union  with  His  Father.  It  was  the  pass- 
ing from  a  world  in  which  all  had  been  to  Him 
toil  and  weariness  and  woe,  to  one  on  which  the 
sweet  memories  of  an  eternity  of  joy  were  rest- 
ing. Death  to  Jesus,  in  one  word,  was  but  a 
going  home.  "  If  ye  loved  Me,"  were  His  part- 
ing words,  "  ye  would  rejoice  because  I  go  to 


214  PAETICIPATION     IN     THE 

my  Father."  "  I  go  to  my  Father  and  your 
Father,  to  my  God  and  your  God."  "  To-day," 
was  His  promise  to  the  companion  of  His  agony, 
while  a  dawning  heaven  was  breaking  on  His 
death-dinmed  eye — "  To-day  shalt  thou  be  with 
Me  in  Paradise."  Therefore,  again,  we  conclude 
that  of  this  element  of  suffering  for  sin  Jesus 
could  never  have  any  personal  experience. 

II.  I  now  go  on  to  inquire  what  kind  of  suf- 
fering for  sin  may  be  conceived  of  as  noble  and 
worthy,  and  so  not  impossible  to  a  pure  and 
holy  nature.  Sin,  though  alien  from  the  expe- 
rience of  a  Being  such  as  Christ,  may  yet  be  to 
Him  the  occasion  or  the  cause  of  bitter  pain  and 
sorrow.  There  are  indeed  pangs  of  inward  an- 
guish on  account  of  sin,  which,  in  all  their  in- 
tensity, only  such  a  Being  can  know.  And  it  is 
only  in  proportion  as  your  inner  nature  is  refined 
into  an  approximate  purity  to  Christ's  that  we 
can  with  reference  to  these  become  "  partakers 
of  Christ's  sufferings." 

Amongst  these  kinds  of  suffering,  I  notice, 
first,  that  which  a  pure  and  holy  nature  must  feel 


SUFFERINGS     OF     CHRIST.  215 

from  the  mere  contiguity  of  evil.  In  the  accom- 
plishment of  His  mission,  it  was  necessary  that 
He,  the  all-holy  One,  hating  sin  with  an  inten- 
sity of  abhorrence  of  which  our  imperfect  minds 
can  form  no  adequate  estimate,  should  become 
an  inmate  of  our  world,  and  dwell  for  many 
years  in  contact  with  its  moral  deformity  and 
pollution.  And  this  in  itself — the  mere  specta- 
cle of  sin,  the  life-long  contact  of  the  sinless 
with  the  vile — implied  on  His  part  bitter  suf- 
fering. To  this  element  of  Christ's  sufferings  I 
have  adverted  in  a  preceding  discourse,  as  con- 
tributing to  that  loneliness  of  spirit  which  ever 
marked  His  earthly  history.  But,  considered 
from  another  point  of  view,  it  is  this  very  recoil 
of  His  pure  heart  from  surrounding  moral  evil, 
this  anguish  of  His  soul  in  the  inevitable  con- 
tact with  sin,  which  opens  up  to  every  Christian 
mind  a  medium  of  profoundest  sympathy  with 
the  mind  of  Jesus.  For  more  and  more,  as  we 
grow  like  to  Jesus,  will  our  perception  of  the 
loathsomeness  of  evil  be  quickened,  more  and 
more  will  we  shrink  with  sympathetic  sensitive- 
ness from  the  foul  contiguity  of  sin,  and  so,  in 


216  PARTICIPATION    IN     THE 

our  painful  oppression  amidst  the  fetid  moral  at- 
mosphere of  the  world,  will  we  become,  in  an 
ever-increasing  measure,  participants  in  the  suf- 
ferings of  our  Lord. 

To  man  or  woman  of  pure  mind  and  tender 
conscience  it  would  be  intolerable  to  be  forced 
to  read  through  an  obscene  book ;  what  agony 
of  mind  then — what  pain  and  distress  of  spirit 
more  unendurable  than  sharpest  bodily  tortures 
— would  be  involved  in  a  similar  life-long  contact 
with  sin,  not  recorded  merely,  but  hideously 
displayed  in  act !  But  such  an  imaginable  case 
as  this  can  only  partially  help  us  to  conceive  of 
the  condition  of  Jesus  in  a  sin-polluted  world. 
For  not  only  was  His  purity  infinitely  more  sen- 
sitive and  abhorrent  of  evil  than  that  of  the 
purest  of  common  men,  but  His  cognisance  of  the 
world's  evil  was  far  more  keen  and  comprehen- 
sive. His  very  presence  roused  the  spirit  of  sin 
that  pervaded  the  world,  into  more  violent  and 
frightful  manifestation.  In  hatred  of  Him,  the 
foulest  passions  in  man's  breast  displayed  all 
their  hatefulness.  The  hell  of  malice  and  re- 
venge that  is  in  the  fallen  spirit  of  man  showed 


SUFFERINGS     OF    CHRIST.  217 

itself  openly  and  horribly  before  Him.  In  that 
most  terrible  crime  in  history  of  which  He  was 
at  once  the  witness  and  the  victim,  sin  reached 
its  climax.  Moreover,  as  was  formerly  said,  He 
had  a  mind  large  enough  to  take  in  at  one  view 
the  whole  combined  wickedness  of  humanity, 
and  He  saw  sin  not  only  in  outward  act,  but  in 
the  hidden  source  of  evil,  the  heart  of  man.  No 
soft  veil  of  conventionality  disguised  sin  from 
His  penetrating  eye.  No  illusion  of  words  and 
forms  and  professions  subdued,  before  the  glance 
of  Incarnate  Truth,  the  unsightliness  of  hypoc- 
risy and  vice.  Wherever  and  in  whatsoever 
guise  sin  was,  He  saw  it.  It  was  to  Him  as  if 
the  mask  were  torn  off,  and  a  skeleton  face  re- 
vealed in  all  its  hideousness — as  if  a  flower- 
strewn  bank  was  laid  open,  and  a  nest  of  ser- 
pents disclosed  beneath.  With  a  nature  formed 
and  habituated  to  breathe  the  air  of  heaven's 
eternal  purity,  He  dwelt  amidst  the  charnel- 
house  loathsomeness  and  corruption  of  evil.  And 
for  this  very  reason,  that  He  was  Himself  with- 
out the  faintest  personal  implication  in  sin,  He 


Caird. 


1ft 


218  PAETICIPATION     IN    THE 

suffered  from  contact  with  it  an  agony  all  the 
more  acute. 

2.  Another  element  of  Christ's  suffering  for 
sin,  in  which,  as  we  grow  in  kindred  purity  of 
nature,  we  shall  learn  to  participate,  is — The  re- 
flected or  borrowed  shame  and  pain  which  noble 
natures  feel  for  the  sins  of  those  with  whom  they 
are  closely  connected.  Christ  was  not  a  mere 
spectator  of  the  world's  sin,  He  was  deeply  im- 
plicated in  the  fortunes  of  the  guilty,  related  to 
them  by  the  closest  ties  of  kindred  and  affec- 
tion. And  it  is  easy  to  see  that  this  fact  intro- 
duces a  new  element  into  our  conception  of  His 
sufferings.  For  though  deeds  of  sin  and  shame 
be  always  revolting  to  a  pure-minded  man,  the 
spectacle  becomes  immeasurably  more  distress- 
ing when  it  is  the  sin  and  shame  of  one  who  is 
related  to  him  by  the  ties  of  blood  or  friendship. 
There  is  a  borrowed  humiliation  which  we  feel 
from  the  sins  of  those  who  are  dear  to  us ; 
there  is  a  keen  and  cruel  pain  which  pierces  a 
good  and  generous  heart  in  the  contemplation  of 
a  brother's  wickedness,  and  which  is  second  only, 
and  in  some  respects  not  second,  to  the  agony 


SUFFERINGS     OF     CHRIST.  219 

of  personal  guilt.  It  is  strange  what  subtle 
bonds  may  blend  our  being  with  the  being  of  an- 
other, by  what  mysterious  chords  soul  may  be 
knit  to  soul,  till  not  only  one  heart  may  vibrate 
spontaneously  to  another's  joy  or  sorrow,  but 
may  feel  an  almost  personal  moral  sensitiveness 
in  another's  righteousness  or  guilt.  Reflect,  for 
instance,  on  the  distress  and  shame  which  a  hus- 
band may  feel  for  a  wife's,  a  wife  for  a  husband's 
dishonor.  Or  consider  how  close  to  conscious 
guilt  is  the  agony  of  a  good  and  holy  father  for 
the  detected  infamy  of  a  child.  There  is  a  sort  of 
organic  unity  in  a  family,  so  that  no  member  of  it 
can  rise  or  fall,  be  honored  or  disgraced,  without 
implicating  the  rest.  Bearing  a  deep  attach- 
ment to  the  erring  one,  bound  to  him  by  the 
closest  ties  of  blood  and  kindred,  and  by  the 
deeper,  more  mysterious  affinities  that  connect 
spirit  with  spirit,  and  propagate  character  to 
character, — the  natural  relationship,  moreover, 
confirmed  by  a  thousand  tendrils  of  memory,  a 
thousand  hallowed  associations  clasping  soul  to 
soul  till  affinity  has  become  almost  identity  of 
being, — think  what  that  father's  feeling  would 


220  PARTICIPATION     IN     THE 

be  if  his  child  should  go  wrong — if,  after  all  his 
anxious  care  and  watchful  discipline,  that  child, 
perhaps  his  hope,  his  pride,  his  darling,  should 
sink  into  impurity,  and  bring  dishonor  on  a  stain- 
less name.  The  father,  though  himself  innocent, 
though  not  really  guilty  of  the  child's  sin,  would 
become  relatively  partaker  of  it ;  he  would  have 
an  impression  as  if  the  ignominy  and  shame  were 
overflowing  on  himself; — nay,  he  would  be  stung 
by  an  anguish  in  some  respects  more  poignant 
than  if  the  sin  had  been  his  own.  The  very  fact 
that  the  child  was  capable  of  the  guilty  deed 
implies  a  weaker  sense  of  its  heinousness ;  and, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  very  fact  that  the  parent 
is  one  who  himself  shrinks  with  loathing  from 
foul  and  dishonorable  actions,  is  the  indication 
in  him  of  a  sensitiveness  of  conscience  which 
must  render  his  perception  of  the  sin  all  the 
more  distressing. 

The  bearing  of  these  principles  on  the  case 
before  us  is  obvious.  Christ  is  our  friend.  He 
took  upon  Him  our  very  nature.  We -are  bone 
of  His  bone  and  flesh  of  His  flesh — nay,  if  we 
may  so  speak,  more  than  that,  spirit  of  His 


SUFFERINGS     OF     CHRIST.  221 

spirit,  heart  of  His  heart.  "  Forasmuch  as  the 
children  are  partakers  of  flesh  and  blood.  He 
likewise  took  part  of  the  same."  "  In  all  things 
it  behooved  Him  to  be  made  like  unto  His  breth- 
ren." No  earthly  relationship  so  close,  so  deep, 
so  real ;  no  human  affection  so  tender,  so  ardent, 
as  that  of  Christ  to  His  own.  The  most  intimate 
of  mortal  unions  is  but  the  type  and  symbol  of 
the  union  of  Jesus  and  His  redeemed.  He 
blends  and  interfuses  His  pure  Spirit  with  the 
common  spirit  of  the  race  which  He  came  to 
save,  in  such  communion  of  feeling  that  there  is 
but  a  step  betwixt  it  and  identity  of  being. 
Nothing  that  happens  to  us  is  indifferent  to  Him. 
Our  minutest  pain  or  grief  thrills  up  to  His 
mighty  heart,  our  sins  oppress  His  spirit  with 
an  almost  personal  weight  of  woe.  "  He  Him- 
self takes  our  infirmities,  and  bears  our  sick- 
nesses ;"  and  in  this,  as  in  other  senses,  "  our 
iniquities  are  laid  upon  Him."  More  deeply  and 
painfully  than  ever  husband  for  a  wife's  dishonor, 
or  parent  for  the  ruin  of  a  beloved  child,  He  feels 
grieved,  humiliated,  overwhelmed  as  with  con- 
scious infamy  and  guilt,  by  our  sins.  And  the 


222  PARTICIPATION     IN     THE 

ineffable  purity  and  holiness  of  His  own  nature, 
the  intense  acuteness  of  his  moral  perceptions, 
render  it  a  more  terrible  thing  to  Him  to  be 
bound  so  intimately  to  the  guilty  and  polluted. 
It  is  a  connection  with  infamy  from  which  He 
cannot  free  Himself,  and  yet  which  to  that  noble 
heart  of  purity  is  all  but  unendurable.  It  is  In- 
nocence wedded  to  Vice,  Purity  tied  to  Pollu- 
tion, a  living  man  bound  inseparably  to  a  loath- 
some corpse.  We  see,  therefore,  in  this  impli- 
cation of  His  being  with  the  being  of  the  guilty, 
another  way  in  which  Christ  suffered  for  sin. 

3.  Once  more,  Christ  suffered  for  sin,  not 
only  as  bearing  relatively  its  guilt,  but  also  as 
its  victim.  In  the  persons  of  those  He  loved, 
sin  transmitted  to  Him  a  borrowed  humiliation ; 
but  it  hurt  Him  more  deeply  than  thus,  for  it 
rose  up  against  Him,  to  hate,  and  assail  and 
destroy  Him.  And  this  to  such  a  nature  as 
His  was  the  saddest  thing  of  all.  It  was  not 
the  pain  and  contumely,  the  loneliness,  deser- 
tion, hostility,  the  manifold  injuries  and  wrongs 
He  endured  on  earth,  that  most  keenly  hurt 
Him,  but  it  was  the  fact  that  these  injuries 


SUFFERINGS     OF    CHRIST.  223 

were  inflicted  by  the  hands  of  those  whom  He 
loved  so  dearly.  The  wound  itself  was  sharp, 
but  there  was  a  poison  of  ingratitude  on  the 
weapon  that  made  it  harder  far  to  bear.  Even 
to  our  feebler  affections  there  is  no  pain  that 
can  compare  with  the  pain  of  rejected  love,  or 
of  injury  and  insult  endured  at  the  hands  of 
those  to  whom  our  hearts  cling.  The  unkind- 
ness  of  a  friend  or  brother,  the  unfaithfulness 
or  harshness  of  a  husband  or  wife,  to  whom  we 
still  turn  with  yearning  fondness — such  offences, 
humiliating  to  a  good  and  gentle  spirit  even 
when  it  is  only  the  witness,  become  tenfold 
more  distressing  when  it  is  itself  the  injured 
object  of  them.  You  remember  with  what  in- 
imitable pathos  the  great  dramatist  depicts  the 
character  and  history  of  a  generous  kind-hearted 
old  man  suffering  cruel  wrong  and  ingratitude 
at  the  hands  of  his  daughters.  With  what  in- 
finite truth  and  tenderness  is  the  progress  of 
feeling  delineated  in  the  injured  man's  breast ! 
At  first  the  old  man  is  represented  as  struck 
with  astonishment,  and  as  all  but  incredulous 
of  the  possibility  of  unkindness  at  the  hands 


224  PARTICIPATION    IN    THE 

of  those  whom  he  loved  so  tenderly,  and  to 
whom  he  had  surrendered  his  earthly  all.  Then 
as  the  proofs  of  ingratitude  multiply,  and  can 
no  longer  be  misconstrued,  we  see  him,  stung 
with  the  terrible  wrong,  bursting  forth  for  a 
while  into  uncontrollable  fits  of  indignation,  fly- 
ing forth  to  brave  the  wild  war  of  the  elements, 
unconscious  of  their  fury,  or  finding  in  it  a 
strange  consolation  for  the  wilder  tumult  of 
sorrow  and  anger  within  his  breast.  Then, 
as  that  phase  of  feeling  passes  off,  as  passion 
spends  itself,  and  he  is  left  free  to  brood  over 
his  wrongs,  the  mind  begins  to  totter  under  the 
weight  of  woe  that  burdens  it; — then  misery 
and  despair  issue  in  madness, — and  then  a 
broken  heart — and  then  the  grave. 

But  neither  in  the  realms  of  fiction  or  of  fact 
can  we  find  any  parallel  to  that  saddest,  stran- 
gest story  of  ingratitude,  in  which  it  is  told  how 
Incarnate  Love  was  rejected  at  the  hands  of 
men.  "  He  came  to  His  own,  and  His  own  re- 
ceived Him  not."  They  whom  He  came  to 
save  "  hid,  as  it  were,  their  faces  from  Him ; 
He  was  despised,  and  they  esteemed  Him  not." 


SUFFERINGS    OF    CHEIST.  225 

Had  He  come  with  anger  on  His  countenance, 
and  weapons  of  vengeance  in  his  hands,  His  re- 
ception could  not  have  been  worse.  But  He 
came  "  not  to  condemn  the  world,  but  that  the 
world  through  Him  might  be  saved."  He 
came,  love  on  His  lip,  and  gifts  of  benignity  in 
His  hands.  He  went  forth  amongst  men  to 
heal  and  comfort  and  bless.  Wherever  He 
went,  beneficence  streamed  out  from  Him  on 
every  side.  No  toil,  or  hardship,  or  weariness, 
or  want,  could  damp  His  ardor,  or  interrupt  His 
ministry  of  love — the  self-forgetting,  self-devot- 
ed, universal  Benefactor.  And  for  all  this  the 
only  return  He  asked  was — love.  For  food, 
healing,  life — for  pardon,  purity,  peace — for 
countless  earthly  blessings,  and  for  a  blessing 
transcending  them  far  as  heaven  transcends 
earth — eternal  mercy  laid  at  every  guilty,  dy- 
ing sinner's  feet — for  all  this,  all  He  wanted,  or 
asked,  or  cared  for,  was  only  that  men  would 
love  Him,  open  their  hearts,  yield  up  their  af- 
fections to  Him,  their  divines t  friend.  But  all 
in  vain !  With  but  slight  exceptions,  all  He 
got  was  coldness,  hard-heartedness,  disdain. 
10* 


226  PARTICIPATION     IN    THE 

Stern  looks,  unkind  acts,  met  Him  wherever 
He  went.  He  looked  for  some  to  pity  Him, 
but  He  found  none.  His  very  kindred  turned 
against  Him.  A  few  poor  men,  touched  by  His 
heavenly  words,  drew  towards  Him  for  a  little ; 
but  as  the  toils  of  the  hunters  gathered  closer 
round  this  pure  and  gentle  One,  even  they  for- 
sook Him  and  fled — left  Him  to  face  His  pur- 
suers, to  suffer,  and  to  die,  alone.  What  wonder 
if,  with  that  heart  of  His  yearning  for  sympa- 
thy, incapable  of  life  without  love,  craving  for 
affection  with  a  longing  which  earthly  heart  has 
never  known — condescending  to  the  lowliest, 
not  rejecting  the  most  worthless,  nay,  welcom- 
ing the  penitent  tenderness  of  foulest  sinners — 
having  no  happiness  but  in  the  recovered  love 
of  human  souls  to  God  in  Him — what  wonder 
if  at  last  His  mortal  strength  gave  way,  and 
not  by  bodily  wounds  alone,  not  by  the  scourg- 
ing, the  nails,  the  spear,  but  by  the  most  piteous 
death  that  mortals  know — by  a  broken  heart, 
He  died  !  Surely  He  who  thus  died,  beyond 
all  men,  suffered  for  sins. 

Such,  then,  are  some  of  those  kinds  of  suffer- 


SUFFERINGS    OF     CHRIST.  227 

ing  on  account  of  sin  which  are  the  signs  of  a 
true  nobleness  of  nature,  and  in  which  it  is  not 
the  shame  but  the  glory  of  a  man  to  participate. 
In  the  expiatory  sufferings  of  Christ  for  sin  it 
may  be  impossible  for  any  follower  of  His  to 
share,  though  even  with  regard  to  these  there  is 
a  sense  in  which  the  sorrows  of  Christians  are 
but  a  perpetuation  of  the  great  sacrifice  ;  for  in 
every  act  of  self-denial  for  the  world's  good,  they 
are  "  filling  up  that  which  is  behind  of  the  suf- 
ferings of  Christ."  But  whatever  isolation  may 
characterise  our  Lord's  suffering  for  sin,  con- 
templated in  this  aspect,  there  are  other  views 
of  it  in  which  the  disciple  may  be  regarded  as 
entering  into  fullest  communion  with  the  Master. 
Believing  in  Him  who  is  the  only  propitiation  for 
the  sins  of  the  world,  you  are  not  only  delivered 
from  guilt,  but  brought  into  such  sympathy  with 
the  heart  of  the  Great  Sufferer,  that  you  regard 
sin  with  feelings  that  are  the  reflection  of  His 
own.  You  "  know  Him  and  the  fellowship  of 
His  sufferings,  being  made  conformable  unto  His 
death."  "  Rejoice,"  then,  if  thus  "  ye  are  par- 
takers of  the  sufferings  of  Christ."  "  Rejoice" 


228  PARTICIPATION     IN     THE 

in  the  simple  fact  that  you  suffer  with  Jesus ; 
for  to  be  near  Him  in  suffering  is  a  nobler 
privilege  than  to  be  with  other  men  in  joy. 
Even  earthly  affection  has  taught  us  how  pos- 
sible it  is  for  a  loving  heart  to  prefer  poverty 
and  hardship  with  some,  to  all  the  softness  and 
splendor  of  life  with  others  ;  and  how  there  may 
be  a  deeper,  richer  joy  in  sharing  the  sternness 
and  ruggedness  of  the  lot  of  one  whom  we  de- 
votedly love  and  honor,  than  in  all  the  super- 
ficial delights  of  a  selfish  and  sensual  existence. 
And  if  that  sentiment  of  mingled  love  and  rev- 
erence and  adoration,  the  profoundest  of  which 
the  heart  of  man  is  capable — if  devotion  to 
Jesus  possess  your  secret  soul,  then  will  you 
experience  something  of  that  strange  sweet  joy 
in  sorrow,  that  bliss  of  woe  with  which  martyr 
spirits  have  often  welcomed  the  cross.  For  ex- 
aggerated though  sometimes  it  may  have  been, 
it  was  often  no  unnatural  and  unreal  feeling 
which  throbbed  of  old  in  the  hearts,  and  fired 
with  a  strange  exultation  the  eyes  of  dying  men, 
and  which  drew  from  dying  lips  the  cry,  "Wel- 
come pain !  welcome  the  cross  !  welcome  dark 


SUFFERINGS     OF     CHRIST.  229 

death !  for  it  is  my  glory  to  bear  them,  0  my 
Saviour,  with  thee !" 

"Rejoice,  inasmuch  as  ye  are  partakers  of 
Christ's  sufferings,"  for  such  suffering  for  sin  as 
that  of  which  we  have  spoken  is  the  badge  of  a 
Christ-like  nature,  the  proof  of  a  spirit  akin  to 
His.  Gladness  is  not  the  truest  sign  of  a  noble 
nature  in  such  a  world  as  this.  There  is  a  sad- 
ness that  rises  from  a  deeper  source  in  man's  na- 
ture than  the  light  sparkle  of  superficial  joy. 
There  is  a  profound  melancholy  more  enviable 
than  rapturous  delight.  There  are  tears  that 
sometimes  spring  "  from  the  depths  of  a  divine 
despair."  In  the  contemplation  of  evil,  the 
sight  of  the  suffering  and  strife  and  wretched- 
ness and  wrong,  which  oppressed  the  Saviour's 
soul,  what  but  a  superficial  nature  can  be  self- 
ishly joyous  ?  There  is  enough  of  sorrow  and 
sin,  surely,  still  left  in  the  world  to  make  a 
thoughtful  mind  no  stranger  to  that  grief  which 
hung  like  a  perpetual  shadow  over  the  spirit  of 
Jesus.  Beholding  the  desolation  and  ruin  of 
souls,  what  man  who  loves  his  brother  can  re- 
main unvisited  by  that  agony  of  love  and  pity 


230  PARTICIPATION    IN     THE 

which  broke  the  heart  of  Christ  ?  A  child  will 
sport  with  thoughtless  levity  over  graves,  where 
man's  deeper  nature  will  stand  in  reverent  awe 
and  contemplation;  but  it  is  better  to  be  sad 
with  the  wise  man  than  merry  with  the  child. 
There  are  men  so  vain  and  superficial,  or  so 
hard  and  selfish,  that,  leave  them  but  their  ani- 
mal enjoyment,  let  them  alone  in  their  epicurean 
sloth  and  selfishness,  and  the  moral  ruin  of  a 
world  would  fail  to  move  them ;  but  who  would 
not  rather  weep  with  Jesus  than  be  dry-eyed 
with  these  ? 

"  Rejoice,  inasmuch  as  ye  are  partakers  of  the 
sufferings  of  Christ,"  for  if  yours  be  His  sorrows, 
yours  also  shall  be  His  joys.  "When  His  glory 
shall  be  revealed,  ye  shall  be  glad  also  with  ex- 
ceeding joy."  "  If  we  suffer,  we  shall  also  reign 
with  Him."  "  If  so  be  that  we  suffer  with  Him, 
we  shall  also  be  glorified  together."  Your  capa- 
city of  holy  suffering  is  the  proof  and  the  meas- 
ure of  a  capacity  of  holy  joy.  The  ear  that  is 
most  pained  by  discordance,  knows  best  the 
pleasure  of  sweet  sounds.  The  heart  which  en- 
mity or  estrangement  wounds  the  deepest,  has 


SUFFEKINGS     OF     CHIIIST.  231 

ever  the  most  exquisite  susceptibility  to  love ; 
and  the  oppression  and  sadness  of  the  spirit 
amidst  a  world  of  imperfection  and  evil,  is  the 
silent  prophecy  and  the  sure  criterion  of  that 
joy  unutterable  which  awaits  it  in  a  world  where 
the  triumph  of  truth  and  goodness  shall  be  com- 
plete. If  inevitable  contiguity  with  sin  distress 
you,  estimate  by  your  present  pain  the  blessed- 
ness of  that  glorious  future  when  you  shall 
breathe  the  atmosphere  of  unmingled  love  and 
purity,  when  sin  shall  be  a  thing  forgotten,  or 
remembered  only  to  enhance  the  deep  joy  of 
eternal  good.  If  here,  with  the  world's  best 
Benefactor,  your  heart  bleeds  with  an  almost 
personal  sense  of  injury  for  the  souls  in  which 
sin  is  working  bitter  wrong,  anticipate  the  exul- 
tation of  that  coming  era  when  you  shall  com- 
pany with  none  but  the  good,  when  spirits  re- 
deemed from  sin,  bright  with  ineffable  purity, 
shall  be  your  perpetual  associates ;  and  when 
you  and  they — light  in  every  mind,  love  in  every 
heart — shall  wander  side  by  side  with  Jesus 
amid  the  sun-bright  expanses  of  eternity.  If 
here,  oppressed  with  "the  bondage  of  corrup- 


SUFFERINGS     OF    CHRIST.  232 

tion,"  you  sigh  with  the  indignant  impatience  of 
the  captive  for  the  emancipation  of  the  world 
from  evil,  conceive  the  rapture  of  that  hour 
which  the  rapid  years  are  hastening  on,  when 
the  captivity  of  sin  shall  cease  for  ever,  and  you 
shall  leap  forth  to  liberty ! 


iritual    °JUst. 


"  Return  unto  thy  rest,  0  my  soul !" 

PSALM  cxvi.  7. 


THE  blessings  of  religion  are  often 
SEKM.  VII.  .          . 

represented  in  Scripture  as  compre- 
hended under  the  idea  of  "  Rest,"  and  the  rise 
of  the  religious  consciousness,  the  stirrings  of 
spiritual  anxiety  and  aspiration,  as  the  instinc- 
tive yearning  of  the  soul  after  its  true  rest  in 
God.  Moreover,  we  are  taught  to  conceive  of 
this  rest,  not  as  a  new  and  arbitrary  gift  to  man, 
but  as  that  which  is,  in  some  respects,  the  soul's 
ancient  and  original  heritage.  Religion  is  to 
be  regarded,  not  as  an  acquisition,  but  as  a  res- 
toration— not  as  the  gaining  of  a  new  friend  or 
home,  but  as  the  recovery  of  a  lost  Father — the 
going  back  to  a  former  home  hallowed  by  an- 
cient memories,  and  reviving  in  the  heart  a 
thousand  dormant  associations.  "  I  will  arise 
and  go  unto  my  Father."  "  Return  unto  the 


234  SPIRITUAL     BEST. 

Lord  thy  God,  for  thou  hast  fallen  by  thine  in- 
iquity." "  Return  unto  thy  rest,  0  my  soul !' 
Now,  it  is  this  thought  which  furnishes  the 
true  explanation  at  once  of  the  soul's  misery 
and  restlessness  in  sin,  and  of  that  repose  and 
peace  which  it  finds  in  reconciliation  to  God. 
For  the  deepest  unrest  is  ever  that  of  things  or 
beings  in  an  unnatural  or  distorted  condition — 
the  unrest  of  aberration  from  a  proper  place  or 
course,  and  so,  of  interrupted  harmony  and 
equipoise.  The  restless  streams  and  brooks 
fret  their  mountain  channels  till  they  reach 
their  proper  depths  in  river  or  sea;  and  the 
waves  of  the  sea  itself,  disturbed  by  the  storm, 
heave  and  sway  themselves  to  rest  in  their  nat- 
ural and  common  level  again.  The  thunder- 
storm is  but  the  voice  of  nature's  unrest,  when 
the  balance  and  equipoise  of  her  elements  are 
disturbed,  and  she  seeks  to  regain  the  wonted 
repose  of  harmony  and  law.  And  so,  in  the 
moral  world,  the  disquietude,  dissatisfaction, 
restlessness  of  the  ungodly,  finds  its  interpreta- 
tion in  nothing  so  much  as  this,  that  in  sin  the 
soul  is  in  an  unnatural  state.  For  although  to 


SPIRITUAL     REST.  235 

fallen  man  sin  has  become  a  second  nature,  it  is 
never  to  be  forgotten  that  the  make  and  struc- 
ture of  his  being  is  not  for  sin,  but  for  holiness. 
The  original  type  of  humanity  is  to  be  found  in 
God.  The  normal  condition  of  the  spirit  of  man 
is  one  of  holy  union  and  communion  with  De- 
ity. And  in  the  feverish  desires,  the  fretting 
cares  and  toils  and  hopes  and  anxieties  of  life, 
we  may  hear  the  unconscious  murmurings  of  a 
nature  that  has  lost  its  true  level,  and  is  seek- 
ing it  in  vain ;  or  in  the  wilder  storms  of  human 
passion  that  sometimes  burst  forth,  the  intima- 
tion that  in  disunion  from  God  the  elements  of 
our  being  are  in  fearful  disharmony  among 
themselves.  Had  man  been  born  only  for  the 
things  of  time  and  sense,  he  had  been  content 
and  happy  amidst  them.  The  crawling  worm 
is  haunted  by  no  reminiscence  of  the  skies,  nor 
is  the  born-beggar's  heart  embittered  by  the 
recollection  of  better  days.  But  to  man,  ill  at 
ease  and  consciously  degraded  in  sin,  the  es- 
sence of  his  misery  is  the  latent  conviction  that 
he  has  fallen  beneath  himself.  It  is  possible, 
indeed,  for  the  sinful  soul  to  reach  a  false  and 


236  SPIRITUAL     REST. 

spurious  rest,  to  sink  into  the  unreal  tranquillity 
of  hardened  impenitence,  in  which  evil  becomes 
its  good.  But  so  long  as  the  soul  has  not  sunk 
thus  low,  so  long  as  it  cannot  be  quite  at  peace 
in  sin,  its  very  restlessness  and  misery  are  at 
once  the  tradition  of  a  nobler  and  happier  past, 
and  the  prophecy  of  a  possible  future  nobler 
and  happier  still. 

In  this  thought,  moreover,  we  have  the  secret, 
not  only  of  the  soul's  unrest  in  sin,  but  also  of 
that  true  rest  in  God  of  which  the  text  speaks ; 
for  it  is  the  rest  of  a  being  who  has  found  again 
his  proper  and  congenial  sphere.  Restored  to 
God,  man's  nature  is  restored  to  harmony  with 
itself,  regains  a  condition  in  which  all  its  facul- 
ties find  full  scope  and  fitting  object,  and  each 
in  perfect  unison  with  the  rest.  Its  noblest 
powers  of  thought,  its  deep  and  insatiable  affec- 
tions, its  boundless  moral  energies,  its  cravings 
for  a  higher  truth,  aspirations  after  a  purer  good, 
and  visions  of  a  beauty  fairer  than  earthly  and 
finite  things  disclose — all  find  their  one  grand, 
all-absorbing,  all-harmonising  object  in  Him  who 
is  the  alone  Infinitely  True  and  Holy  and  Fair. 


SPIKITUAL     REST.  237 

In  reconciliation  to  God  through  Christ  Jesus 
the  soul  regains  its  lost  equilibrium,  finds  again 
the  centre  of  repose  for  which  it  had  been  sigh- 
ing in  vain.  What  sensual  pleasure,  wealth, 
ease,  honor,  power,  the  applause  of  men — what 
even  intellectual  pursuits,  and  the  domestic  and 
social  charities  of  life,  fail  to  bestow,  or  bestow 
for  the  moment  only  to  stimulate  the  thirst 
they  seem  to  quench,  in  the  ineffable  sense  of 
union  with  God  the  soul  finds  at  last — rest,  sat- 
isfaction, perfect  peace.  "  Come  unto  Me,  all 
ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,"  is  the  invi- 
tation of  Incarnate  Love,  "  and  I  will  give  you 
rest."  And  in  the  soul  that  yields  to  this  invi- 
tation there  rises  the  response  of  its  deepest 
nature,  the  instinctive  throb  of  a  new  yet  natu- 
ral affection,  the  calm  sense  of  existence  fulfilled, 
and  unexplained  hope  and  desire  solved  in  fru- 
ition— the  witness  in  its  own  inmost  conscious- 
ness that  its  true  rest  is  found  at  last.  "  Return 
unto  thy  rest,  0  my  soul !" 

Such,  then,  is  the  "  rest"  which  true  religion 
bestows.  Let  us  meditate  for  a  little  on  some 
of  the  qualities  or  characteristics  of  this  rest, 


238  SPIRITUAL     REST. 

which  lend  to  it  a  peculiar  value  and  blessed- 
ness. 

1.  The  "  rest/'  then,  of  which  the  text  speaks, 
is,  for  one  thing,  not  lodily  or  physical,  but  men- 
tal or  spiritual  rest.  Physical  repose,  indeed,  is 
one  of  the  great  and  ever-recurring  necessities 
of  our  nature,  and  it  is  strange  to  reflect  how 
very  much  of  the  outward  happiness  of  life  is  to 
be  traced  to  it.  When  the  physical  energies 
have  been  tasked  to  the  utmost,  there  is,  as  we 
know,  a  strange  pleasure  attached  to  the  mere 
cessation  of  toil.  How  sweet  and  soothing  the 
sensation  of  rest  that  steals  over  the  bodily 
frame  when  the  strained  muscle  is  relaxed,  and 
the  nerves  are  unstrung,  and  the  will  flings 
loose  the  reins  of  control  over  the  active  powers, 
and  every  limb  and  joint  and  fibre  are  bathed  in 
repose  !  Who  has  not  often  felt  the  luxury  of 
listlessness,  the  pleasing  pain  of  languor,  in  the 
quiet  evening  hours  that  succeed  to  a  day  of 
hard,  fatiguing  work,  when  the  very  order  of 
nature — her  fading  light,  and  gathering  stillness, 
and  tranquil  solemnity  of  aspect — seem  to  min- 
ister to  the  instinct  of  repose  which  all  living 


SPIRITUAL     REST.  239 

creatures  feel  ?  And  then  how  manifold  the 
benefits  conferred  on  man  by  God's  gift  of  sleep ! 
How  strangely  potent  the  cordial  which  it  pours 
into  the  exhausted  frame,  and  from  which  the 
worn  powers  daily  drink  in  new  strength  and 
elasticity !  What  a  boon  to  many  the  mere 
bliss  of  unconsciousness,  the  periodic  escape 
from  self,  the  flight  from  toil  and  care  and  weari- 
ness, when  we  cross  the  bridge  that  separates 
the  wakeful  working  world  from  the  shadowy 
world  of  dreams  !  Surely  not  unworthy  of  in- 
finite beneficence  is  that  gift  of  which  it  is  writ- 
ten, "He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep."  And  so 
again,  not  unnatural,  however  mistaken,  is  that 
half-sentimental  dream  of  heaven,  in  which 
hearts,  wearied  with  the  conflicts  and  confusions 
of  the  world,  have  sometimes  unconsciously  re- 
flected their  own  wistful  yearnings  after  deliv- 
erance and  rest — the  vision  of  some  land  of 
serene  and  sheltered  stillness,  of  unbroken  and 
imperturbable  calm,  where  the  echo  of  the  world's 
strife  shall  fall  no  more  upon  the  ear,  and  happy 
spirits,  emancipated  from  care  and  toil,  steep- 
ed in  everlasting  oblivion  of  pain  and  sorrow, 


240  SPIRITUAL     REST. 

shall  summer  high  in  bliss  upon  the  hills  of 
God. 

But  there  is  a  nobler  rest  than  this.  Physical 
repose,  however  sweet,  however  salutary,  is  but 
the  feeble  type  of  that  truer  rest  to  which  the 
text  refers — a  rest  sweeter  than  sleep,  deeper 
than  death,  and  more  pure  in  its  unselfish  calm- 
ness than  the  heaven  which  sentiment  or  poetry 
has  pictured.  When  doubt  and  disbelief  are 
gone,  when  the  object  of  life  is  found  in  Christ, 
when  God  becomes  the  sure  portion  and  sweet- 
est joy  of  the  heart,  and  the  spirit  within  us, 
hitherto,  it  may  be,  groping  bewildered  amidst 
earthly  hopes  and  pleasures,  like  one  in  the  dark 
for  the  friendly  hand,  feels  itself  at  last  em- 
braced in  the  sure  grasp  of  strong  and  change- 
less love — then  is  the  true  rest  of  man,  the  still- 
ness of  the  weary  spirit  in  the  everlasting  arms. 
And  by  how  much  this  is  the  nobler  kind  of 
rest  you  will  not  fail  to  perceive,  if  you  reflect 
that,  appertaining  to  the  higher  and  nobler  part 
of  man's  being,  it  is  the  only  repose  which  is 
independent  of  outward  circumstances.  Bodily 
repose  reaches  not  to  the  true  centre  of  man's 


SPIRITUAL     REST.  241 

peace.  It  is  a  blessing,  whose  domain  is  but  a 
limited  one,  and  continually  exposed  to  inva- 
sion. But  mental  repose  intrenches  itself  in 
the  deepest  region  of  man's  nature,  and  renders 
him  impregnable  to  outward  assault.  Stretch 
the  body  in  luxurious  ease,  free  it  from  pain 
and  toil,  smooth  away  every  crease  from  the 
couch  of  its  composure,  yet,  if  the  heart  within 
be  weary  and  anxious,  the  conscience  disturbed, 
or  the  imagination  unsettled,  it  is  a  very  truism 
to  say  that  in  such  a  case  there  is  no  real  rest. 
Bodily  tranquillity  becomes  unfelt  and  unen- 
joyed  in  the  deeper  trouble  that  shakes  the 
spirit.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  over  bodily  dis- 
tractions a  mind  that  is  deeply  tranquil  asserts 
its  superiority.  Calm  and  steady  burns  the 
guarded  light  of  holy  peace,  even  amid  the 
gusts  and  storms  of  outward  fortune.  To  many 
a  troubled  couch  the  Spirit  of  God  has  come  in 
visitations  of  unearthly  peace.  On  the  cheek 
wasted  by  disease,  or  on  the  pale  and  pain- 
contracted  brow,  has  not  seldom  been  witnessed 
the  calmness  of  a  heavenly  rest ;  and  from  lips 
quivering  with  anguish  have  fallen  words  of 

Caird. 


242  SPIRITUAL     BEST. 

meek  resignation,  and  even  joyful  hope,  that 
told  how  the  peace  of  the  spirit  can  triumph 
over  outward  pain.  Nor  only  is  this  the  most 
independent,  it  is  also  the  most  constant  and 
enduring  rest.  Physical  repose  can  only  be 
periodic.  The  enjoyment  of  bodily  rest  must 
be  purchased  by  ever-recurring  intervals  of  ex- 
ertion. Continuous  inaction  becomes  more  un- 
endurable than  labor;  the  pain  of  effort  and 
toil  less  irksome  than  the  pain  of  unvaried  and 
inglorious  ease.  Moreover,  were  it  possible  to 
prolong  the  sweets  of  physical  repose  through  a 
lifetime,  it  is  a  repose  which  soon,  at  the  latest, 
must  be  rudely  broken.  Could  a  man  shut  out 
all  causes  of  mental  disquietude,  and  pass  life  in 
one  continuous  dream  of  selfish  ease,  the  hour  is 
coming  in  which  he  can  sleep  no  more.  Death 
is  no  dreamless  slumber;  to  the  self-indulgent 
and  the  sensual  it  is  rather  the  waking  up  of 
the  soul  to  the  awful  burden  of  neglected  re- 
sponsibilities. The  rest  of  the  soul,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  essentially  continuous.  It  needs  no 
intervals  of  unrest  to  sweeten  its  enjoyment. 
It  never  ceases,  and  never  satiates.  It  is  not 


SPIRITUAL     BEST.  243 

the  occasional  refreshment,  but  the  ever-flowing 
current  of  the  inner  life  :  "  Thy  peace  shall  be 
as  a  river,  and  thy  righteousness  as  the  waves 
of  the  sea."  Even  amidst  the  outer  toil  and 
distraction  of  the  world,  it  is  "  the  peace  of  God 
which  keepeth  the  heart  and  mind."  Nor  does 
death,  which  disunites  and  disturbs  all  else,  for 
a  moment  interrupt  its  continuity  :  for  the  rest 
of  the  soul  in  Christ  is  identical  with  the  rest  of 
heaven — "  the  rest  which  remaineth  for  the 
people  of  God."  Or  if  that  differ  from  this,  it 
is  only  in  degree,  not  in  kind ;  and  the  repose 
of  the  glorified  succeeds  to  the  peace  of  the 
faithful  on  earth,  just  as  the  rest  of  a  child 
borne  in  loving  arms  on  a  journey,  becomes  only 
a  little  deeper  and  less  disturbed  when  it  sleeps 
on  in  the  same  arms  at  home. 

2.  The  "Rest"  of  which  the  psalmist  speaks 
may  be  described,  again,  as  the  Rest,  not  of  Im- 
mobility, but  of  Equipoise. 

There  is  in  nature  a  kind  of  rest  which  is  to 
be  ascribed  to  the  mere  absence  of  force — the 
rest  of  immobility  or  inertia.  There  is  another 
kind  of  rest  which  is  the  result  of  the  highest 


244  SPIRITUAL    REST. 

exercise  of  force — the  rest  of  balance,  equi- 
poise, of  action  and  reaction.  So  in  the  soul 
there  is  a  rest  of  torpor,  when  the  inert  intel- 
lect rusts,  the  unexercised  affections  stiffen  into 
selfishness,  and  the  will,  long  unused  to  effort, 
becomes  enervated.  And,  on  the  other  hand, 
there  is  another  and  nobler  kind  of  mental  and 
spiritual  rest  which  is  not  the  negation  of  effort, 
but  the  seemingly  negative  result  of  the  highest 
positive  exercise  of  inward  power.  It  may,  in- 
deed, consist  with  the  intensest  outward  activ- 
ity ;  but  even  where  there  is  no  apparent  activ- 
ity, the  very  stillness,  calmness,  repose  of  the 
spirit,  may  be  the  result  of  the  inward  action  of 
powers  working  in  fullest  energy,  yet  with  a 
mutual  balance  of  harmony  so  perfect  as  to 
seem  to  the  superficial  observer  identical  with 
absolute  immobility.  It  is  but  a  vulgar  error 
to  measure  force,  physical  or  mental,  only  by 
motion,  stir,  outward  activity.  As  much  or 
greater  power  may  be  at  work  to  produce  still- 
ness, as  is  manifested  by  the  most  violent  out- 
ward commotion.  Repose,  as  the  commonest 
examples  prove,  may  be  the  high  and  difficult 


SPIRITUAL    REST.  245 

result  of  manifold  powers  in  constant  operation, 
combining,  modifying,  blending,  balancing  each 
other's  effects.  When  two  equal  and  opposite 
forces,  to  take  the  simplest  case,  strain  at  a  bar 
of  iron,  the  combined  force  employed  may  be 
enough  to  hurl  a  heavy  missile  with  an  arrow's 
speed ;  yet  the  result  is  stillness,  rest.  The 
pressure  of  the  atmosphere  on  our  bodily  frames 
is,  we  know,  sufficient  in  itself  to  tear  us  limb 
from  limb ;  yet,  because  of  the  counterbalancing 
force  that  meets  it,  we  move  and  act  uncon- 
scious of  its  existence.  In  the  air  we  breathe, 
in  the  water  of  the  stillest  lake  or  sea,  there  is 
no  stillness  of  mere  inertia,  but  beneath  the 
outer  semblance  of  repose  there  is  the  activity 
of  attractive  and  repellent  forces  ever  with 
well-matched  power  striving  against,  but  gain- 
ing no  advantage  over  each  other.  And  all 
around  us,  in  the  natural  world,  mighty  agen- 
cies are  at  work,  which,  if  any  one  or  more  of 
them  were  left  to  act  unresisted,  or  if  the  bal- 
ance that  subsists  between  them  were  ever  so 
slightly  disturbed,  might  break  forth  in  the 
most  terrible  conflict  of  nature's  elements  ;  yet 


246  SPIRITUAL     REST. 

are  these  agencies,  in  their  infinitely  diversified 
character  and  endless  complexity  of  operations, 
combined  in  such  exquisite  proportions,  adjusted 
in  such  perfect  equilibrium,  that  the  result  is  the 
order,  harmony,  repose  of  nature — the  grand  rest 
of  the  material  universe. 

Now,  analogous  to  this  is  that  "  rest"  of  the 
soul  on  which  we  are  now  reflecting.  For  in 
the  repose  of  a  saintly  spirit  there  is  latent 
power.  The  calmness,  the  peace,  the  holy 
tranquillity  that  sometimes  breathes  over  a  ma- 
tured Christian's  mind,  has  in  it  nothing  in  com- 
mon with  mere  listless  inaction ;  it  is  rather  the 
last  result  and  highest  expression  of  mighty  and 
heavenly  energies  at  work  within  the  breast. 
In  the  inner  world,  not  less  than  in  the  outer, 
there  are  counteracting  or  conflicting  elements 
that  require,  for  the  preservation  of  order  and 
harmony,  the  maintenance  of  the  most  perfect 
balance  amongst  them ;  and  it  is  to  the  disturb- 
ance of  this  balance — to  the  restlessness  of  an 
ill-regulated,  or  the  wilder  disorder  of  an  ungov- 
erned  spirit,  that  the  misery  of  man  is  greatly 
to  be  traced.  Even  in  this  world,  kept  in  check 


SPIRITUAL     REST,  247 

though  the  lawless  and  discordant  elements  of 
our  nature  may  be  by  a  thousand  incidental 
causes,  there  is  yet  enough  in  the  experience  of 
every  sinful  heart  to  prove  that,  estranged  from 
Cod,  the  ruling  and  harmonising  principle  of 
our  inner  being  is  lost.  How  little  of  unity  or 
consistency  is  there  in  the  lives  of  most  men ! 
How  very  many  are  the  mere  creatures  of  im- 
pulse— of  fitful  inclinations  and  unrestrained 
desires  chasing  each  other  over  the  restless 
surface  of  the  spirit !  What  account,  again, 
can  we  give  of  the  fretful  wayward  tempers 
perpetually  disturbing  the  inward  composure  of 
some,  or  of  the  wilder  excesses  of  passion  that 
desolate  for  ever  the  peace  of  others  ?  Or  how, 
in  fine,  explain  the  constant  strife  that  is  going 
on,  with  more  or  less  vehemence,  in  most  minds 
—between  reason  and  inclination,  conscience 
and  passion,  the  higher  and  nobler  law  of  our 
being,  and  the  law  in  the  members  that  warreth 
against  the  law  in  the  mind  ?  How,  but  that 
the  controlling  power  that  alone  can  give  order, 
equipoise,  unity,  to  the%  inner  world,  has  become 
paralysed  or  enfeebled.  And  if  it  be  so  even 


248  SPIRITUAL     REST. 

with  all  the  adventitious  restraints  of  the  pres- 
ent life,  who  can  tell  what  fearful  manifestations 
of  the  evil  that  is  in  the  heart  of  man  may 
await  the  godless  soul  in  that  world  where  all 
restraint  is  gone?  There  are  latent,  destruc- 
tive energies,  possibilities  of  wrong  and  wretch- 
edness, in  every  sinful  breast,  which  here  only 
rarely  display  themselves,  and  at  which  we  can 
but  dimly  guess. 

Now  the  rest  of  the  believer  is  the  return  of 
the  soul  to  harmony  with  itself.  The  inward 
repose  which,  sooner  or  later,  true  religion 
brings,  is  result  of  the  final  conquest  and  subju- 
gation of  man's  lower  nature.  It  indicates  the 
presence  of  a  new  principle  of  order,  the  intro- 
duction of  a  new  element  of  harmony  and  cohe- 
rence among  the  wayward  powers  of  the  soul. 
The  peace  of  the  holy  mind  is  the  peace,  not  of 
stagnation,  but  of  self-conquest.  Its  intensity, 
therefore,  the  amount  of  moral  force  that  is  in 
it,  is  to  be  measured,  not  by  what  it  displays, 
but  by  what  it  implies — by  the  strength  of 
those  evil  passions  which  have  been  subdued, 
by  the  impetuosity  of  those  appetites  which 


SPIKITUAL     REST.  249 

have  been  mastered,  by  the  repellent  energy  of 
those  powers  of  man's  nature  which  have  been 
reconciled.  The  calm  and  resistless  power  of 
Law  can  be  gauged  only  by  the  chaos  of  seem- 
ingly conflicting  elements  out  of  which  it  educes 
harmony  and  peace.  So,  how  much  moral 
power  does  that  calmness  and  quietude  of  a 
saintly  spirit  often  bespeak.  Under  the  tran- 
quil simplicity  of  a  meek  and  humble  mind, 
what  unrelaxing  self-restraint,  what  restless 
vigilance,  what  stern  repression  of  vain  thoughts, 
ambitious  longings,  selfish  or  envious,  or  unami- 
able  feelings — what  mightier  than  earthly  power 
and  energy  may  be  present,  though  hid  from 
outward  observation.  Estimate  actions  not  by 
their  overt  results  merely,  but  by  the  real 
though  latent  power  that  is  implied  in  them, 
and  the  most  brilliant  deeds  of  outward  heroism 
will  sometimes  fall  far  short  of  those  quiet  vic- 
tories over  self,  to  which  the  Omniscient  eye 
alone  is  witness. 

This  process  of  self-subjugation,  it  is  true,  may 
be  by  no  means  an  instantaneous  or  rapid  one. 
The  first  and  immediate  effect  of  the  soul's  re- 
11* 


250  SPIRITUAL     REST. 

turn  to  God  is  often  very  different  from  that  re- 
pose and  calmness  of  which  we  have  spoken. 
For  just  as  returning  bodily  health  may  first  be 
indicated  by  the  racking  pains  of  convalescence 
in  the  sick  man's  frame,  or  as  the  fearful  strife 
and  carnage  of  revolution  may  be  the  earliest 
intimation  of  a  reviving  spirit  of  social  freedom, 
so  He  whose  kingdom  is  righteousness  and  peace 
may  usher  in  its  advent  by  "  sending  not  peace, 
but  a  sword."  The  rise  of  religion  in  the  heart 
may  be  indicated  by  the  bitter  pangs  of  an  awak- 
ened conscience,  and  by  the  painful  struggle  of 
spirit  with  sense,  of  the  reviving  element  of 
moral  freedom  with  the  old  and  inveterate 
tyranny  of  sin  in  the  soul.  And  it  may  only  be 
by  a  long-protracted  process  of  holy  discipline — 
by  many  a  weary  hour  of  inward  conflict,  faint- 
ing, striving,  falling,  reviving,  yet  ever,  on  the 
whole,  growing  in  conformity  to  the  will  of  God 
— that  the  soul  attains  at  last  to  the  complete 
mastery  over  self,  the  perfect  inward  harmony 
of  a  spirit  in  which  every  thought  and  feeling 
and  desire  are  "  brought  into  captivity  to  the 
obedience  of  Christ."  But  when  that  glorious 


SPIRITUAL     REST.  251 

end  is  gained,  when  self  is  quelled,  and  duty 
reigns  supreme  within  the  breast,  when  "  the 
immortal  soul  becomes  consistent  in  self-rule" — 
then  the  "weary  strife  of  frail  hunianity"  is  at 
an  end,  and  a  repose — oh,  how  deep,  how  tran- 
quil, how  sublime  ! — diffuses  itself  throughout  the 
spirit — a  repose  in  which  there  is  at  once  calm- 
ness and  power,  the  sweet  serenity  of  an  infant's 
slumbers,  yet  the  strength  of  an  angel  of  God. 

3.  It  is  but  a  further  development  of  the  same 
thought  to  say,  once  more,  that  the  true  "  Rest" 
of  the  soul  is  that,  not  of  Inactivity r,  but  of  Con- 
genial Exertion. 

Labor  is  rest  to  the  active  and  energetic  spirit. 
To  not  a  few  minds,  congenial  activity,  eager,  ab- 
sorbing, all  but  incessant,  is  the  element  in  which 
they  find  repose.  And  the  ardent  and  enthusi- 
astic soul,  conscious  of  power,  and  delighting 
in  work  that  calls  it  forth,  will  sometimes  seem 
to  enjoy  perfect  serenity  only  in  the  whirl  of 
occupation,  as  the  bird  on  the  wing,  in  the  flow 
of  joyous  strength,  while  it  cleaves  the  air  at 
fullest  speed,  yet  seems  as  if  at  rest,  poised  on 
its  outspread  pinions. 


252  SPIRITUAL     REST. 

For  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  the  toil  that  is 
unfelt  is  no  toil;  and  the  exercise  of  the  mind's 
faculties  on  congenial  objects,  is  not  only  unac- 
companied by  any  irksome  sense  of  toil,  but  is 
attended,  and  probably,  were  it  not  for  the  ne- 
cessity of  using  gross  material  organs,  would 
ever  continue  to  be  attended,  with  positive  de- 
light. Fatigue,  waste,  exhaustion,  belong  only 
to  matter  and  material  organization.  The  mind 
itself  does  not  waste  or  grow  weary,  and  but  for 
the  weight  of  the  weapons  wherewith  it  works, 
it  might  think,  and  imagine,  and  love  on  for  ever. 
Even  with  all  its  present  drawbacks,  a  spirit  of 
great  power  and  energy,  so  far  from  resting, 
frets  and  feels  ill  at  ease  in  inactivity.  To  it  in- 
action is  unrest  and  torture — no  work  so  hard  as 
doing  nothing.  Only  in  the  putting  forth  of  its 
energies,  in  the  evolution  of  its  inward  power, 
in  the  devotion  of  thought  and  feeling  to  con- 
genial pursuits,  does  it  find  itself  tranquil,  un- 
burdened, at  rest.  That  congenial  activity  is 
not  work  but  rest,  a  thousand  familiar  examples 
prove.  Relaxation  or  amusement,  to  take  an 
obvious  one,  is  often,  considered  in  the  mere 


SPIRITUAL     REST.  253 

form  of  it,  very  hard  work.  Yet  it  is  no  work. 
So  long  as  the  bodily  faculties  bear  the  strain, 
what  might  otherwise  be  the  most  exhausting 
toil,  becomes,  by  reason  of  the  stimulus  of  in- 
ward delight,  recreation,  refreshment,  rest  to  the 
spirit.  So  again,  the  mental  activity  of  the 
student,  whether  in  apprehending  or  excogitating 
thought,  is  not  felt  to  be  labor,  if  it  be  spent  on 
a  subject  in  which  the  mind  is  intensely  inter- 
ested. There  is  no  work  that  has  so  little  of 
the  sense  of  work  in  it,  as  successful  thought  on 
a  congenial  theme.  Let  but  the  supply  of  ner- 
vous excitement  continue  unexhausted,  and  on 
the  free-flowing  stream  of  thought  the  mind 
might  float  on  for  ever  in  uninterrupted  activity, 
yet  in  perfect  repose.  Once  more,  the  work  of 
the  painter  or  the  musician  enthusiastically  de- 
voted to  his  art,  is  work  from  which  the  sense 
of  effort  is  gone.  Not  to  work  while  the  mind 
and  heart  are  full — to  suffer  the  glowing  con- 
ception to  pass  away  unexpressed,  to  repress  the 
tide  of  song  welling  up  to  the  lip — this  would  be 
the  true  toil  and  unrest  to  these.  In  this  case, 
too,  the  spirit  rests  in  working. 


254  SPIRITUAL     REST. 

Now  it  is  in  its  application  to  the  noblest  of 
all  work  that  this  principle  receives  the  highest 
illustration.  The  service  of  God,  beyond  all 
other  kinds  of  labor,  may  become  the  most  per- 
fect rest  to  the  soul.  For  it  is  when  employed 
in  this  work  that  the  soul  is  in  its  most  con- 
genial sphere  of  activity.  The  soul,  by  its  orig- 
inal structure,  was  designed  and  adapted  for  this 
as  its  special  work ;  and  it  is  yet  possible  for  it, 
as  redeemed  and  restored  in  Christ  Jesus,  to 
reach  that  glorious  state  of  moral  elevation  in 
which  goodness  becomes  spontaneous,  duty  de- 
light, the  service  of  God  perfect  freedom.  More- 
over, there  is  no  art  that  is  capable  of  calling  forth 
in  the  human  spirit  a  more  impassioned  devotion 
than  the  art  of  being  and  of  doing  good.  It 
may  be  from  a  lofty  impulse  and  with  a  glowing 
spirit  that  the  hand  of  genius  shapes  the  marble, 
or  vivifies  the  canvass  into  the  outward  form  of 
human  beauty  or  majesty.  But  there  is  a  work 
nobler  far,  and  capable  of  kindling  and  concen- 
trating in  a  holy  ardor  every  energy  of  man's 
nature — the  work  of  moulding  the  imperishable 
spirit  within  us  into  the  likeness  of  the  Infinitely 


SPIRITUAL     REST.  255 

Good  and  Fair.  Wherever,  therefore,  this  work 
becomes,  as  in  every  earnest  mind  it  must 
sooner  or  later  become,  the  grand  and  absorbing 
pursuit,  difficulties  will  vanish,  and  the  sense  of 
effort  be  unfelt  in  the  intensity  of  inward  feel- 
ing. A  divine  ideal  has  dawned  upon  the  spirit, 
and  it  is  all  on  fire  to  realise  that  ideal  in  itself 
and  other  souls.  Whatever  obstacles  impede  its 
endeavors,  give  way  before  the  force  of  strong 
desire ;  and  tke  difficulties  of  the  Christian  life 
become  at  last  as  the  mechanical  difficulties  of  a 
familiar  art  that  have  long  ceased  to  be  noted. 

It  is  true,  indeed,  that  this  blessed  facility  of 
goodness  comes  not  at  the  first  to  any,  and  may 
to  many  be,  even  to  the  close  of  their  earthly 
history,  all  but  unknown.  Even  sincere  Chris- 
tians may  oftentimes  feel  in  duty  more  of  the 
friction  of  self-denial  than  the  free  motion  of 
delight.  The  yoke  of  Christ  may  need  long  to 
be  worn  before  it  ceases  to  gall  the  wearer,  and 
becomes  "  a  yoke  which  is  easy  and  a  burden 
which  is  light."  Even  earthly  and  secular  arts 
are  never  easy  at  the  first.  No  genius  can  ren- 
der its  possessor  all  at  once  and  without  practice 


256  SPIRITUAL     REST. 

superior  to  mechanical  difficulties.  And  for  the 
acquisition  of  the  spiritual  art,  the  art  of  pleas- 
ing God,  there  is  a  peculiar  intractableness  and 
indocility  in  the  mind  of  man.  Nay,  for  those 
arts  there  is  not  seldom  found  in^  individual 
minds  a  strong  inherent  aptitude ;  but  for  this 
not  only  is  there  in  no  case  in  fallen  man  a 
natural  predilection,  but  there  is  ever  a  natural 
aversion  and  obstinacy  to  be  combated.  But  as 
in  those  so  in  this,  facility  comes  with  use.  The 
hand  that  at  first,  with  labored  effort,  feebly 
and  disjointedly  struck  out  the  simplest  air  of 
music,  learns  by-and-by,  with  almost  instinctive 
rapidity  and  lightness  of  touch,  to  sweep  the 
notes,  unconscious  of  all  but  the  delight  of  har- 
mony. And  so,  rising  from  earthly  to  heavenly 
things,  is  there  not  a  diviner  art  in  which  holy 
hearts,  by  God's  grace,  may  learn,  with  purer, 
deeper  delight,  to  discourse  a  nobler  melody  ? 
As  love  to  Christ  deepens  in  the  soul  that  is 
truly  given  to  Him,  the  work  which  it  prompts 
us  to  do  for  Him  loses  the  feeling  of  effort,  and 
passes  into  pleasure.  Less  and  less  of  set  puiv 
pose  do  we  need  to  constrain  the  mind  to  think 


SPIRITUAL     REST.  257 

of  Him,  or  to  approach  Him  in  the  formal  atti- 
tude of  devotion.  The  idea  of  Christ  in  the  holy 
mind  becomes  gradually  blended  with  all  the 
actions  of  its  daily  life ;  thought  goes  out  to 
Him  as  by  a  divine  instinct ;  an  ever-acting  at- 
traction draws  the  heart  upwards  to  its  great 
and  first  object,  and  life  becomes  an  unconscious 
yet  continuous  prayer.  The  transition  .  from 
motive  to  act,  from  holy  intention  and  design  to 
holy  doing,  becomes  less  and  less  marked,  until 
at  last  the  will  acquires  an  almost  mechanical 
certainty,  an  almost  unconscious  smoothness  and 
rapidity  of  action.  And  so,  with  the  unfettered 
ease  of  one  "  who  playeth  well  upon  an  instru- 
ment," from  the  many-stringed  harp  of  life  the 
soul  renders  up  to  God  the  sweet  melody  of 
holy  deeds.  Then  indeed  has  it  "  returned  into 
its  rest."  Then  indeed  has  it  attained  to  that 
blessed  state,  in  which  its  only  repose  is  in  good- 
ness, in  which  goodness  becomes  to  it  a  very 
necessity,  in  which  holy  thoughts  and  works  are 
to  the  soul  as  devoid  of  effort  as  song  to  a  bird 
or  incense  to  flowers — the  state  of  those  re- 
deemed and  glorified  ones,  of  whom  it  can  be 


258  SPIRITUAL     REST. 

said  at  once  that  "  they  have  entered  into  rest/' 
and  that  "  they  rest  not  day  nor  night/'  but 
"  are  before  the  throne  of  God,  and  serve  Him 
day  and  night  in  His  temple." 

4.  There  is  yet  one  other  aspect  in  which  the 
soul's  "  rest"  in  God  may  be  contemplated,  viz. 
as  a  rest  that  is  not  absolute,  but  relative. 

As  in  the  outward,  so  in  the  inward  and  spir- 
itual world,  there  may  be  progress  without 
effort,  rapid  advancement  that  is  consistent  with 
perfect  repose.  When  the  wearied  child  is 
taken  up  into  the  parent's  arms,  though  there 
relatively  at  rest,  it  may  yet  be  moving  more 
rapidly  and  steadily  homewards  than  its  own 
tottering  feet  could  bear  it.  Relatively  to  the 
carriage  or  vessel  that  conveys  him,  the  travel- 
ler may  be  in  perfect  stillness,  whilst  absolutely 
in  swift  progress  to  his  destination.  Or  again, 
whilst  the  aspect  of  stillest  repose  sits  on  the 
face  of  the  visible  creation,  with  what  inconceiv- 
able velocity  is  this  globe  on  which  we  dwell 
whirled  onwards  in  its  orbit.  The  most  stable 
and  moveless  objects — the  rooted  oak  that  iden- 
tifies the  spot  where  it  grows  for  centuries ;  the 


SPIRITUAL    REST.  259 

everlasting  hills,  that  in  their  changeless  still- 
ness rebuke  the  restless  mutability  of  man — are 
every  moment  hurried  on  through  space  with  a 
speed  wherewith  thought  cannot  cope.  In  like 
manner  there  is  in  the  moral  world  an  order 
which  embraces  alike  our  activity  and  our  still- 
ness, in  virtue  of  which  our  swiftest  onward  pro- 
gress may  consist  with  our  deepest  apparent 
rest.  The  range  of  human  activity,  even  in  the 
highest  and  holiest  sphere  of  labor,  is  but  a 
limited  one,  and  the  point  is  soon  reached  where 
our  human  insufficiency  is  taken  up  into  the 
all-sufficiency  of  God.  As  the  realm  of  our 
knowledge  is  infinitely  exceeded  by  that  of  our 
ignorance,  so  is  the  contracted  sphere  of  our  ac- 
tivity by  that  boundless  region  in  which  all 
human  activity  is  vain.  In  the  moral,  as  in  the 
material  world,  we  are  ever  "  encompassed  by 
eternal  laws,"  which  are  the  complement  of  our 
feeble  agency,  and  which  do  infinitely  more  for 
us  than  we  can  do  for  ourselves.  Whilst,  there- 
fore, it  is  a  great  thing  to  be  an  earnest  worker 
in  Christ's  service,  yet  the  Christian  life  is  not 
mainly  a  life  of  action,  but  of  trust,  not  of  inde- 


260  SPIRITUAL     REST. 

pendent  exertion,  but  of  self-abandonment  to  the 
working  of  a  mightier  agency  than  ours.  Even 
at  its  outset  it  is  not  work,  but  faith.  The  be- 
ginning of  true  religion  is  not  the  setting  out  on 
a  new  course  in  the  proud  consciousness  of  un- 
exhausted strength  and  resolution,  but  rather 
the  casting  of  the  spirit  worn,  with  the  burden, 
soiled  with  the  dust  of  life's  friendless  journey, 
on  One  who  has  offered,  and  is  infinitely  able, 
to  sustain  it.  And  so  in  its  subsequent  pro- 
gress, whilst  there  is  an  aspect  in  which  re- 
ligion may  be  contemplated  as  a  life  of  stren- 
uous work,  there  is  another  and  higher  in  which 
it  must  be  viewed  as  a  life  of  resignation  and  of 
rest.  Calmly  as  the  midnight  voyager  sleeps, 
whilst  under  watchful  guidance  the  vessel  bears 
him  onwards,  so  calmly,  with  such  trustful  hu- 
mility, does  the  believer  commit  himself  and  his 
fates  for  time  and  eternity  to  the  unslumbering 
providence  of  God.  Staying  his  hand,  indeed, 
from  no  duty,  withholding  from  no  work  of 
self-improvement  or  of  beneficent  activity,  yield- 
ing never  to  that  spurious  humility  which  is  but 
the  disguise  of  indolent  fatalism,  he  yet  ever 


SPIRITUAL    REST.  261 

retains  in  his  spirit  the  unanxious  quietness  of 
one  who  knows  that  results  are  not  in  his  hand, 
but  God's.  It  is  little,  at  best,  that  he  can  do 
to  help  on  the  world's  progress,  or  his  own ;  but 
whether  he  work,  or  forbear  from  working,  he 
knows  that  "  the  Father  worketh  hitherto,  and 
will  work."  In  the  strife  with  sin,  in  the  con- 
templation of  moral  evil  withstanding  God's 
work  in  the  world,  there  may  be  much  to  dis- 
courage an  earnest  mind ;  but  ever  when  doubts 
harass,  or  abortive  efforts  distress  the  spirit, 
and  the  sense  of  our  human  weakness  becomes 
most  oppressive,  what  relief  to  pass  out  of  self 
into  God,  and  to  stay  our  feebleness  on  the 
everlasting  arm !  In  the  quiet  confidence  of 
faith,  in  the  assurance  that,  independently  of 
man's  petty  activities,  the  mighty  revolutions 
of  the  moral  world  are  ceaselessly  moving  on, 
and  that  all  things  are  working  together  for 
good  to  them  that  love  God,  there  is  rest  for  the 
believing  soul.  "  My  puny  efforts,"  is  his 
thought,  "  are  not  necessary  to  God.  <  He  can 
work  with  them  or  without  them.  Though  I 
and  hundreds  of  such  weak  workers  fail,  He 


262  SPIRITUAL     REST. 

fails  never.'  There  is  a  blessed  consummation 
to  which,  though  the  motion  be  imperceptible  to 
us,  all  things  are  tending.  I  work  to  hasten  it 
if  I  may,  and  if  I  may  not,  yet  not  less  will  I 
believe  that  God's  great  day  is  coming.  I  will 
stay  my  soul  on  God.  I  will  '  rest  in  the  Lord, 
and  wait  patiently  for  him/  6  Return  unto  thy 
rest,  0  my  soul !' " 

Such,  then  is  that  rest  which  is  the  blessed 
heritage  of  the  soul  in  God.  Let  me  conclude 
these  reflections  by  reminding  you  that  it  is  a 
rest  which  is  attainable  through  Christ  alone. 
"  No  man  cornetli  unto  the  Father  but  by  Him." 
The  way,  else  untrodden  and  impassable,  be- 
tween earth  and  heaven,  between  the  region  of 
selfishness  and  sin  and  the  pure  region  of  eter- 
nal calm  and  rest,  Jesus  hath  consecrated  by 
the  shedding  of  His  precious  blood,  so  that  all 
who  will  may  have  boldness  to  enter  in.  It  is 
no  mere  local  distance,  no  outward  or  material 
obstacle,  that  separates  the  sinful  soul  from  its 
true  home  and  rest  in  God.  If  it  were,  if  the 
"rest  that  remaineth  for  the  people  of  God" 


SPIRITUAL     REST.  263 

were  only  some  far-off  scene  of  outward  bliss 
and  beauty,  Jesus  would  not  be  the  Saviour  we 
need.  A  mere  mechanical  exercise  of  power,  a 
mere  material  omnipotence,  might  translate  us 
from  life's  toil  and  sorrow  to  such  a  rest.  But 
not  such  is  the  transition  we  need.  No  local 
change  could  bring  us  nearer  to  Him  in  whom 
every  spirit  lives  and  moves  and  has  its  being. 
The  heaven  which  God's  presence  brings  is  al- 
ready in  local  contiguity  to  saint  and  sinner 
alike.  What  keeps  the  sinner  out  of  it  is  not 
material  but  moral  barriers  :  break  down  these, 
and  heaven's  sweet  rest  would  stream  into  the 
spirit.  Guilt  and  sin  separate  the  soul  from  God 
as  the  widest  wastes  of  un travelled  space  could 
never  separate.  Remove  these,  and  the  dis- 
tance is  at  once  annihilated.  A  purified  soul  flies 
instantly,  as  by  an  inevitable  and  resistless  affi- 
nity, to  its  rest  in  the  bosom  of  God.  And  guilt 
and  sin  Jesus  alone  can  remove.  From  that 
sense  of  demerit,  that  painful  consciousness  of 
evil,  which  makes  it  terrible  for  a  human  soul  to 
face  the  Infinite  Purity,  there  is  no  escape  but 
in  Him  whose  blood  cleanses  from  all  sin.  From 


264  SPIRITUAL     REST. 

that  dread  selfishness  that  kills  in  man's  heart  all 
nobler,  diviner  affections  and  aspirations,  and 
makes  the  sinful  soul  shrink  from  God  as  the 
diseased  eye  from  light,  there  is  no  deliver- 
ance but  in  that  mighty  restorer,  Himself  incar- 
nate love,  who  revives  within  the  heart  its  lost 
susceptibilities  of  goodness.  Clothing  it  with 
an  innocence  that  is  but  the  reflection  of  His 
own,  kindling  in  it  a  love  that  is  pure  as  the 
heaven  from  whence  its  fire  is  caught,  Jesus 
brings  the  finite  soul  again  into  holiest,  sweetest 
union  with  the  Infinite,  opens  to  it  heaven's 
door,  and  bids  it  go  in  and  find  in  God  its  true 
joy  and  rest.  Who  would  not  yield  the  soul 
into  this  divine  Saviour's  hands  ?  Who  would 
not  listen  and  respond  to  the  invitation,  while 
still,  as  of  old — infinite  pathos  in  His  pleading 
voice — He  offers  pardon  to  the  guilty,  purity  to 
the  defiled,  peace,  joy,  hope,  heaven,  to  the 
wretched,  or  that  which  includes  them  all — that 
strange  unearthly  blessing — rest  to  the  weary 
and  heavy-laden  soul ! 


"  Beloved,  I  wish  above  all  things  that  thou  mayest  prosper  and 
be  in  health,  even  as  thy  soul  prospereth." — 3  JOHN,  2. 

THERE  are  two  worlds  in  which 
SLUM.  VIII. J 

every .  man  lives,  two  distinct  yet 

equally  real  scenes  of  existence  in  which  we 
spend  the  days  and  hours  of  life.  To  the  out- 
ward world,  with  its  material  objects  and  inter- 
ests, its  scenes  of  beauty  or  deformity  ;  its  busy 
throngs  of  men  and  women;  its  houses,  cities, 
fields  ;  its  cares  and  toils  and  pleasures, — to 
this  external  sphere  of  existence  no  man  alto- 
gether or  exclusively  belongs.  You  have  but  to 
close  the  eye  or  abstract  the  thoughts  from  outer 
things,  and  instantly  you  pass  into  another 
region :  you  become,  as  it  were,  the  dweller  in 
an  inner  world, — that  strange  mysterious  region 
of  thoughts  and  feeling  and  desires,  of  memory 
and  conscience  and  will — that  microcosm,  that 
little  but  most  real  world  within  every  human 

Caird.  12 


266  SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY. 

breast.  To  the  majority  of  men,  indeed,  the 
latter  is  but  a  comparatively  untrodden  region, 
a  country  with  whose  wondrous  aspects  they  are 
little  familiar,  to  whose  inhabitants  they  are  all 
but  strangers,  whose  hidden  depths  they  have 
seldom  attempted  to  explore.  Yet,  known  or 
unknown,  frequented  or  unexplored,  not  less  real 
are  the  scenes,  not  less  marvelous  the  phe- 
nomena, not  less  stirring  and  complicated  the 
events  and  interests  of  the  secret  world  which 
the  eye  of  consciousness  surveys,  than  are  those 
of  the  world  we  behold  with  the  eye  of  sense. 

Corresponding  to  these  two  worlds,  the  ex- 
ternal and  the  internal,  Jhere  are  two  lives  we  all 
may  be  said  to  lead, — the  outer  life  of  sense, 
the  inner  hidden  life  and  history  of  the  soul. 
In  no  case  do  physical  condition  and  circum- 
stances constitute  the  whole  life  of  a  man. 
Every  soul,  too,  has  a  history.  Beneath  the 
vicissitudes  and  fluctuations  of  the  former  a 
deeper  current  ever  runs.  There  is  in  every 
individual  case  a  secret  machinery  at  work  be- 
neath the  surface,  of  which  the  movements 
above  it  are  but  the  partial  and  uncertain  indica- 


SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY.  267 

tions.  The  visible  material  life  is  but  the  scaf- 
folding under  which  the  unseen  and  eternal  life 
is  rearing.  The  world,  that  notes  the  outward 
events  and  incidents  of  your  life,  discerns,  after 
all,  but  a  part,  and  that  the  most  insignificant 
part,  of  the  history  of  your  being.  And  were 
each  individual  in  this  assembly  to  narrate  to  us 
the  story  of  his  past  life,  to  describe  to  us  with 
all  minuteness  in  what  spot  he  was  born,  in  what 
places  and  houses  he  has  dwelt,  what  positions 
in  society  he  has  occupied,  what  profession  or 
trade  he  has  followed,  what  money  he  has  gained 
or  lost,  through  what  external  changes  of  health 
and  sickness,  wealth  and  indigence,  prosperity 
and  adversity,  he  has  passed ;  however  interest- 
ing it  might  be  to  contemplate  the  strangely  di- 
versified fortunes  of  so  many  human  beings,  yet 
after  all,  in  narrating  them,  they  would  have  left 
still  untouched  the  half,  and  by  far  the  more  im- 
portant half,  of  their  real  life.  For,  whether 
you  have  been  accustomed  to  think  of  the  fact 
or  no,  in  the  case  of  each  individual  who  hears 
me  there  has  been,  amidst  all  these  multifarious 
outward  events  and  interests,  another  and  more 


268  SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY. 

momentous  history  going  on  all  the  while.  With 
respect  to  each  of  us,  there  has  been  from  the 
dawn  of  our  existence,  a  mental  as  well  as  a  ma- 
terial history — a  life  of  the  soul,  a  course  of  in- 
ward progress  or  retrogression,  a  series  of 
changes  for  good  or  evil  in  the  character  of  that 
mysterious  dweller  beneath  every  breast,  more 
worthy  to  be  chronicled,  fraught,  would  we  but 
believe  it,  with  interest  deeper,  more  momentous 
far,  than  the  fortunes  and  vicissitudes  of  our  out- 
ward career.  We  spend  our  years,  it  is  written, 
as  a  tale  that  is  told  ;  but  there  is,  may  we  not 
say,  an  under-plot  in  the  story  of  every  human 
life ;  and  however  stirring  be  the  narrative  of 
our  outward  experience,  there  is  ever  a  deeper 
pathos,  a  more  awful  and  absorbing  interest, 
gathered  around  the  history  of  the  soul. 

In  the  passage  before  us,  the  apostle,  as  you 
will  perceive  at  a  glance,  makes  reference  to  the 
two  courses  of  human  experience  of  which  we 
have  just  spoken — the  outward  and  the  inward. 
The  text  is  simply  an  expression  of  affectionate 
desire  for  the  welfare  of  one  who  seems  to  have 
been  very  dear  to  the  writer.  It  is  the  friendly 


SPIRITUAL    PROSPERITY.  269 

greeting  of  a  believer  to  a  brother  in  Christ. 
And  you  perceive  that  the  particular  form  it 
takes  is,  not  that  merely  of  a  simple  wish  for 
the  friend's  happiness,  but  of  a  wish  more  speci- 
fically for  his  happiness,  his  prosperity,  at  once 
in  the  inward  and  the  outward  life  :  in  other 
words,  for  both  his  temporal  and  spiritual  pros- 
perity. Moreover,  you  will  observe  that  the 
apostle  makes  the  latter  the  measure  or  standard 
according  to  which  he  desires  that  his  friend's 
outward  or  temporal  prosperity  should  be  regu- 
lated. "  May  you,  my  friend,"  is  his  sentiment, 
— "  may  you  be  as  prosperous  outwardly  as  you 
are  inwardly  ;  may  the  current  of  your  outward 
life  flow  on  as  happily  as  flows  the  course  of 
your  spiritual  being, — may  you  be  happy  as  you 
are  holy  !"  The  idea  thus  enunciated  may  sug- 
gest to  us  a  not  unprofitable  train  of  meditation, 
if  we  follow  it  out  a  little  further,  considering, 
first,  what  is  to  be  understood  by  prosperity  of 
soul;  and  then,  why  this  prosperity  of  soul 
should  be  made  the  measure  of  outward  pros- 
perity, or,  in  other  words,  why  a  believer  should 
desire  for  his  friend  just  so  much  temporal  pros- 


270  SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY. 

perity  as  he  already  possesses  of  inward  and 
spiritual. 

I.  Of  what  in  the  language  of  the  world  is 
commonly  designated  prosperity,  perhaps  the 
two  main  elements  are  Wealth  and  Power.  The 
individual  who  is  growing  richer  or  rising  in 
station,  the  community  or  nation  whose  internal 
resources  are  increasing,  whose  influence  and 
importance  are  extending,  is  universally  held  to 
be  in  a  prosperous  condition.  It  will  not  be 
difficult  to  see  that  there  are  in  the  spiritual 
condition  of  man  elements  analogous  to  these,  of 
which  his  inward  prosperity  may  be  said  to  con- 
sist. There  is  a  wealth,  there  is  a  power,  of  the 
soul. 

To  take  the  first  of  these,  there  is,  it  will  need 
very  little  reflection  to  perceive,  a  wealth  which 
may  be  predicated  of  the  inward  as  well  as  of 
the  outward  life.  There  is,  in  no  exclusively 
metaphorical  sense,  a  riches  of  the  soul,  the  inner 
spiritual  part  of  a  man,  as  well  as  of  the  out- 
ward and  physical.  Money,  property,  worldly 
goods,  are  not  more  real  possessions  than 


SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY.  271 

thought,  knowledge,  wisdom.  Nor  are  the  out- 
ward comforts  and  luxuries,  the  gratifications  of 
sense  and  appetite  that  may  be  procured  by  the 
former,  more  literally  a  man's  own,  what  belongs 
to  him,  what  makes  him  richer,  than  are  warm 
affections,  a  fertile  imagination,  a  memory  stored 
with  information,  and,  above  all,  a  heart  full  of 
God's  grace.  The  common  phraseology  of  life 
recognises  this  fact,  when  we  speak,  for  instance, 
of  "  a  richly-furnished  mind,"  a  mind  "  rich  in 
intellectual  resources,"  "  a  rich  vein  of  thought," 
"  an  ample  fund  of  information,"  and  the  like. 
And  the  word  of  God  adopts  the  same  idea  with 
reference  to  divine  things,  when  it  applies  to  the 
spiritual  condition  of  the  believer  such  language 
as  the  following, — "  Hath  not  God  chosen  the 
poor  of  this  world  rich  in  faith  ?"  "  Let  the 
word  of  Christ  dwell  in  you  richly  in  all  wis- 
dom ;"  "  Poor,  yet  making  many  rich ;  having 
nothing,  yet  possessing  all .  things  ;"  "  There  is 
that  maketh  himself  rich,  yet  hath  nothing ; 
there  is  that  maketh  himself  poor,  yet  hath 
great  riches." 

Nor  let  it  be  said  that  this  is  merely  the  Ian- 


272  SP  IE  IT  UAL     PROSPERITY. 

guage  of  metaphor.  It  is  the  language  of  meta- 
phor, but  of  more  than  metaphor, — and  a  mo- 
ment's thought  will  convince  you  that  it  is. 
For,  to  think  only  of  mere  intellectual  acquire- 
ments, take  two  men,  one  in  comparatively 
straitened  circumstances,  yet  possessed  of  great 
mental  abilities  and  attainments — the  other, 
overflowing  with  money,  yet  narrow-souled  and 
ignorant ;  you  would  not  hesitate  to  say  which 
is  really  the  richer  of  the  two.  The  wealth  of 
the  one  may  be  invisible  and  impalpable  com- 
pared with  the  other's.  The  soul  and  its  treas- 
ures are  alike  unseen;  and  in  the  outward 
aspect  of  the  body  there  may  be  little  to  distin- 
guish the  one  from  the  other.  But  yet,  beneath 
that  bosom,  in  the  one  case,  there  dwells  a  soul 
in  whose  invisible  repositories  are  laid  up  stores 
of  intellectual  riches,  whilst  emptiness  and  bar- 
renness are  the  only  characteristics  of  the  other. 
And  if  this  be  true  of  mere  intellect,  if  even 
secular  knowledge  constitute  a  wealth  more  val- 
uable than  any  outward  possession,  surely  not 
less  true  must  the  same  thought  be  when  ap- 
plied to  that  wisdom  which  maketh  wise  unto 


SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY.  273 

salvation.  I  do  not  know  who  in  this  assembly 
is  the  man  most  largely  endowed  with  this 
world's  wealth ;  but  surely  that  man  amongst 
us  is  indeed  the  richest,  who  bears  within  his 
bosom  the  treasure  of  a  soul  at  peace  with  God, 
and  safe  for  all  eternity !  There  may  be  in  this 
house  not  a  few  who,  during  the  year  that  is 
past/*  have  added  to  their  worldly  gains  ;  but  if 
there  be  one  amongst  us  in  whose  soul  the  grace 
of  God's  Holy  Spirit  has  found  a  resting-place, 
on  whose  mind  there  has  dawned  at  last  the 
knowledge  of  God  as  a  reconciled  Father  in 
Jesus  Christ,  and  whose  erewhile  joyless  spirit 
is  now  lighted  up  with  the  calm  deep  joy  and 
peace  of  a  believer — oh,  surely  such  a  man,  be- 
yond all  others,  may  be  congratulated  as  one  to 
whom  the  past  has  been  a  year  of  "prosperity  !" 
Or  if  there  be  those  of  our  number  whose  in- 
ward experience,  during  the  months  that  have 
fled,  has  been  one  of  growing  faith,  and  purity, 
and  love — of  faith  that  rests  upon  Jesus  with  a 
more  and  more  childlike  trust,  of  a  purity  to 
which  sin  in  every  form  becomes  more  abhorrent, 

*  Preached  on  the  last  day  of  the  year  1848. 
12* 


274      SPIRITUAL  PROSPERITY. 

of  a  love  which  every  day's  successive  inter- 
course with  its  heavenly  object  has  rendered 
more  intense  ;  then,  indeed,  to  such  we  may 
say,  Yours  has  been  an  accession  of  wealth,  for 
which  any  conceivable  increase  of  worldly  for- 
tune were  but  a  poor  equivalent.  Nay,  yours  is 
the  only  real  wealth.  For  money,  property, 
every  worldly  possession,  is  out  of  the  man, 
It  does  not  come  into  the  soul.  It  can  be  sep- 
arated from  him.  It  is  but  an  accident,  not  an 
essential  property  of  his  being.  But  knowledge, 
faith,  spiritual-mindedness,  love  to  Christ,  these 
are  a  sort  of  wealth  that  go  into  and  become 
transfused  through  the  very  essence  of  the  man. 
They  are  locked  up  in  no  outward  repository. 
Their  possessor  cannot  leave  them  behind  him 
with  an  uneasy  mind,  to  the  care  of  others,  or 
sleep  with  a  feeling  of  insecurity  for  his  treas- 
ures. They  are  laid  up  in  the  inmost  recesses 
of  his  soul — they  are  part  and  parcel  of  the 
man  himself.  His  very  identity  must  be  des- 
troyed before  they  can  be  reft  from  him.  Yours, 
too,  is  the  only  unvarying  wealth.  The  money 
or  property  of  your  prosperous  neighbor  is  by 


SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY.  275 

its  very  nature  fluctuating  in  value.  Rich  to- 
day, by  some  of  the  perpetually  occurring  vicis- 
situdes of  life,  his  securest  investment  may 
to-morrow  become  worthless.  But  the  wealth 
of  the  soul  is  standard  wealth ;  it  has  the  stamp 
of  Heaven's  mintage  upon  it,  and  is  always  the 
same.  A  soul,  on  which  the  image  of  Christ  is 
impressed,  is  a  thing  precious  in  the  eye  of  Him 
who  judge th  by  the  rule  of  infinite  rectitude. 
It  is  precious  everywhere  and  for  ever ;  it  has 
not,  like  man's  wealth,  a  different  value  in  dif- 
ferent countries  and  at  different  times  ;  it  will 
pass  current  everywhere — it  is  free  of  the  uni- 
verse. Yours,  finally,  is  the  only  lasting  wealth. 
The  time  will  come  when  the  richest  in  this 
house  to-day  must  abandon  his  wealth  for  ever. 
Whatever  you  have  of  this  sort,  though  you 
should  carry  it  safe  up  to  the  grave's  brink,  there 
you  must  leave  it.  You  have  but  alone  a  life- 
interest  of  it.  Death  will  rob  you  of  every- 
thing, to  the  very  garment  that  covers  your 
body,  yea,  of  that  body  itself..  The  only  thing 
you  shall  be  able  to  keep,  is  that  which  you 
have  stored  up  in  the  soul  itself.  That  alone 


276  SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY. 

will  go  out  with  the  soul  into  eternity. — "  Be- 
loved, I  wish  above  all  things"  that  thus  your 
souls  may  prosper. 

The  other  element  we  have  mentioned,  as 
commonly  included  in  the  idea  of  "  prosperity," 
is  power.  He  is  universally  esteemed  a  prosper- 
ous man  in  his  outward  circumstances,  who  is 
advancing  or  has  risen  from  comparative  lowli- 
ness and  obscurity  to  a  position  of  eminence 
and  influence  in  society.  He,  on  the  contrary, 
is  deemed  unfortunate,  who  has  been  reduced 
from  a  former  station  of  rank  and  power  to  one 
of  indigence  and  meanness.  The  servant  who 
has  become  the  master,  the  subject  who  has 
gained  the  sovereign's  place,  is  regarded  as  emi- 
nently prosperous.  The  dethroned  monarch, 
the  great  man  degraded  to  a  position  of  servi- 
tude, is  looked  upon  as  everything  the  reverse. 

Now,  to  this  element  of  prosperity  also  there 
is  a  parallel  in  the  inward  life.  We  may  be  in- 
wardly as  well  as  outwardly  powerful.  In  the 
little  world  within  the  breast  there  are  stations 
of  rank,  dominion,  authority,  to  which  we  may 
aspire,  or  from  which  we  may  fall.  There  is  an 


SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY.  277 

inward  slavery,  baser  than  any  bodily  servitude ; 
there  is  an  inward  rule  and  governance  of  a 
man's  spirit,  an  object  of  loftier  ambition  far  than 
the  possession  of  any  earthly  crown  or  sceptre. 
For  self-government  is  indeed  the  noblest  rule 
on  earth.  The  highest  sovereignty  is  that  of 
the  man  who  can  say,  "  He  hath  made  us  kings 
unto  God."  The  truest  conquest  is  where  the 
soul  is  "  bringing  every  thought  into  captivity 
to  the  obedience  of  Christ."  The  monarch  of  his 
own  mind  is  the  only  real  potentate. 

And  that  this  is  not,  any  more  than  in  the 
former  case,  a  purely  figurative  use  of  words, 
a  moment's  thought  will  convince  you.  There 
is  a  real  subjection,  degradation,  slavery  of 
spirit,  to  which  we  may  be  reduced  ;  there  is  a 
real  power,  freedom,  emancipation,  to  which  we 
may  attain.  It  is  not  a  mere  metaphor,  for  in- 
stance, when,  in  common  language,  we  say  that 
the  profligate  man  is  "the  slave  of  his  appetites  ;" 
or  when  the  word  of  God  employs  the  same 
style  of  description  in  such  expressions  as  these : 
"  Whosoever  committeth  sin  is  the  servant  of 
sin  ;"  «  The  truth  shall  make  you  free  ;"  "  Sin 


278  SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY. 

shall  not  have  dominion  over  you  ;"  "  Delivered 
from  the  bondage  of  corruption  into  the  glorious 
liberty  of  the  sons  of  God ;"  "  God  hath  given 
to  us  the  spirit  of  power  and  of  a  sound  mind." 
For  is  there  not  a  real  bondage,  to  take  the 
most  palpable  example,  in  the  case  of  the  sen- 
sualist, the  intemperate  man,  the  impure  or  pas- 
sionate man  ?  If  there  be  any  one  here  of  this 
character,  how  true,  how  sad,  how  debasing  his 
inward  bondage !  Tyranny  is  always  obnoxious 
to  its  victim.  But  you  would  feel  it  to  be  the 
worst  of  all  tyranny,  to  be  all  but  intolerable, 
if  your  tyrant  resided  constantly  in  your  own 
family  circle,  obtruding  his  hateful  surveillance, 
his  despotic  interference,  into  your  most  secret 
hours  of  retirement.  But  here,  surely,  there  is 
a  worse  tyranny  still ;  when  the  tyrant  follows 
you,  not  merely  to  your  home,  to  the  domestic 
circle,  to  the  closet,  but  penetrates  your  own 
breast,  and  resides  perpetually  within  your  own 
bosom.  And  yet  how  certain  is  it  that  a  pam- 
pered appetite,  an  ungovernable  passion,  does 
wield  such  a  tyrannous  sway  over  the  soul !  Is 
it  not  the  case — may  we  not  say  to  such  an 


SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY.  279 

one  ? — that  Conscience,  Duty,  Sense  of  Right, 
that  in  you  which  ought  to  rule  your  being,  has 
been  enervated  and  enfeebled,  and  bereft  of  all 
power 'to  govern  your  conduct?  Have  not  a 
fierce  democracy  of  lusts  and  passions  driven 
conscience  from  its  throne  within  your  breast  ? 
Do  you  not  feel  that  they,  and  not  you,  are  the 
masters  ?  that  when  temptation  comes  in  its 
strength,  though  you  see  what  is  right,  you  can- 
not do  it — though  you  see  what  is  wrong,  you 
cannot  resist  it  ?  Over  your  own  thoughts  and 
desires,  your  own  will  and  working,  is  it  not  so 
that  often  you  have  no  more  command  than  the 
sea  over  its  waters,  or  forest  trees  over  their 
motions  as  they  bend  to  the  blast  ?  Place  the 
strong  temptation  before  you,  and  in  the  hour 
of  base  and  craving  opportunity  you  know  that 
you  will  not,  cannot,  choose  but  yield  up  your 
soul  to  .their  command.  Conscience  may  se- 
cretly warn  you  that  it  is  ruin  to  yield,  that 
you  are  offending  the  great  God  by  yielding, 
that  every  time  you  yield  you  are  inflicting  a 
deep  wound  on  your  peace ;  yet  how  often  do 
you  feel  that  you  have  introduced  into  your 


280  SPIEITUAL    PROSPERITY. 

bosom  a  master  mightier  than  conscience  still ! 
In  moments  of  remorse  your  feeble  will  may 
rise  up  and  irresolutely  strive  to  regain  its  au- 
thority ;  but  it  is  speedily  overborne  again,  and 
under  the  resistless  lash  of  appetite  you  are 
driven  on,  and  on,  in  sin. 

But  there  is  another  and  more  common  state 
of  mind,  which  may  not  less  truly  be  described 
as  a  slavery — an  abandonment  of  self-rule  in 
the  soul.  There  are  few,  it  may  be,  amongst 
us  to  whom  the  former  description  is  appropri- 
ate ;  but  there  are  multitudes,  the  most  cursory 
observation  shows,  who  have  abandoned  the 
rule  of  their  souls,  if  not  to  open  profligacy,  to 
a  not  less  despotic  principle  of  worldliness  and 
spiritual  indifference.  Are  there  not  many  now 
hearing  me,  who  feel  that  their  case  is — not 
that  they  do  not  know  that  their  present  course 
of  life  is  wrong — but  that  they  have  no  power 
of  resolution  to  break  off  from  it,  and  begin  in 
good  earnest  the  work  of  religion  ?  It  is  not 
that  they  are  not  aware  of  their  danger,  but 
that  there  is  a  dread  paralysis  upon  their  moral 
powers,  a  nightmare  incapacity  of  resolute  ac- 


SPIRITUAL    PROSPERITY.  281 

tion,  that  will  not  let  them  flee.  I  am  per- 
suaded that  I  speak  to  the  experience  of  not  a 
few  now  present  when  I  say  to  them.  You  can- 
not resist  the  conviction  that  all  is  not  right 
with  your  soul.  You  do  not  dare  to  assert 
that  you  are  quite  prepared  for  eternity — that 
you  would  not  wish  to  be  a  different  sort  of 
person  when  death  comes  to  you.  You  have 
occasionally  been  conscious  of  the  feeling  that 
you  ought  to  bestir  yourself,  and  think  more  than 
you  do  about  religion.  You  have  felt  thus,  for 
instance,  when  an  intimate  friend  died  at  your 
own  period  of  life ;  or  when  you  were  seriously 
ill  yourself;  or  when  some  very  earnest  expos- 
tulation was  addressed  to  you  about  your  soul's 
state.  The  thought  did  force  itself  on  your 
mind  that  you  ought  to  be  more  serious,  to  re- 
pent, to  break  off  from  your  careless  ways,  to 
set  earnestly  about  the  inquiry  how  your  soul 
is  to  be  saved.  But  still  you  do  not  repent ; 
you  are  not  to-day  a  whit  more  serious  than 
before.  You  have  never,  after  all,  taken  any 
resolute  step  in  the  matter.  You  have  let  year 
after  year  slip  by,  and  you  are  found  still  the 


282  SPIRITUAL    PROSPERITY. 

same  easy,  worldly,  careless  man  as  ever.  The 
world  is  too  strong  for  you ; — you  fear  perhaps 
its  ridicule; — you  love  its  contented  selfish- 
ness ; — you  are  its  slave.  And  oh,  what  a  mis- 
erable bondage  is  this !  What  a  tremendous 
arrest  upon  your  powers !  what  a  mighty  ty- 
ranny over  your  soul  must  that  be,  which,  amid 
the  awful  mystery  of  a  life  like  ours — coming 
from  eternity,  hastening  to  eternity  again — can 
quell  and  stifle  the  great  motives  of  religion ! 
Sad,  sad  indeed,  may  be  the  openly  abandoned 
profligate's  condition;  but  is  it  extravagant  to 
say  that  there  is  more  hope  of  him  than  of  such 
dead,  numb,  torpid  worldliness  as  this  ?  It  is 
sad  to  look  on  the  havoc  and  destruction  of 
some  fair  region  where  the  hurricane  has  been 
raging ;  but  is  there  not  something  more  sad, 
more  appalling  far,  in  the  still,  stern  barrenness 
of  the  desert,  where  perpetual  silence  and  un- 
broken desolation  reign  ? 

Is  there,  then,  amongst  us,  any  one  who  has 
escaped  from  such  bondage  as  this? — he  as- 
suredly is  prospering  in  spirit.  Quickened  by 
the  secret  energy  of  God's  Spirit,  has  your  will 


SPIRITUAL    PROSPERITY.  283 

risen  up,  revolted  from  this  ruinous  thraldom, 
and  in  the  strength  of  a  mightier  than  human 
power,  cast  it  off  for  ever  ?  Then,  indeed,  with 
you  would  we  rejoice  this  day,  and  be  exceed- 
ing glad.  If  the  truth  have  made  you  free, 
you  are  free  indeed.  In  the  arms  of  Jesus  you 
are  safe  for  ever.  No  language,  no  emblems, 
can  be  found  to  convey  any  adequate  idea  of 
the  blessedness  of  such  a  deliverance.  Not  the 
poor  timid  struggling  bird  springs  forth  from 
the  snare  with  a  note  of  more  thrilling  joyful- 
ness — not  the  despairing,  heart-sick  captive 
casts  the  first  look  of  freedom  on  the  bright 
heaven,  or  treads  with  bounding  step  the  green- 
sward of  home  with  a  more  exultant  throb  of 
happiness,  than  this  day  may  be  yours.  And 
never  was  that  ancient  song  of  deliverance  sung 
with  a  deeper  meaning  than  your  lips  may 
lend  to  it,  "  Our  soul  is  escaped  as  a  bird  out 
of  the  snare  of  the  fowler ;  the  snare  is  broken, 
and  we  are  escaped." 

II.  Such,  then,  are  some  of  the  elements  of 
that  inward  or  spiritual  prosperity  to  which  the 


284  SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY. 

apostle  refers  in  the  words,  "  even  as  thy  soul 
prospereth."  I  would  now  point  out  briefly  the 
reasons  for  which  this  soul-prosperity  should  be 
regarded  in  our  desires  as  the  standard  or  mea- 
sure of  outward  prosperity. 

Why  did  the  apostle  wish  for  his  friend — why 
should  we  in  like  manner  wish  for  our  friends, 
outward,  temporal  prosperity,  only  in  the  mea- 
sure in  which  they  already  possess  inward, 
spiritual  prosperity  ?  Is  it  a  sentiment  founded 
in  reason — "  I  wish  above  all  things  that  thou 
mayest  prosper  and  be  in  health,  even  as  thy 
soul  prospereth  ?  " 

That  it  is  so  will  be  apparent  if  you  reflect  on 
the  one  hand,  that,  destitute  of  inward  grace,  it 
is  neither  for  a  mans  own  good,  nor  for  that  of 
his  fellow-men,  that  he  should  be  possessed  of 
outward  wealth  or  power ;  and  on  the  other 
hand,  that  if  a  man's  soul  be  right  with  God,  the 
possession  of  these  outward  advantages  is  both 
safe  for  himself  and  profitable  for  others. 

To  look  for  a  moment  to  the  former  view  of 
the  matter,  can  it  be  doubtful  to  any  one,  that 
wealth,  power,  prosperity,  are  no  blessings  where 


SPIRITUAL    PROSPERITY.  285 

God's  grace  has  not  come  before  them  ? — that  it 
is  not  good  to  be  happy,  if,  first,  we  are  not 
holy  ?  Imagine — nay,  you  need  not  imagine  it 
— life  teems  with  examples  of  men  and  women, 
surrounded  with  all  its  ease  and  comfort  and  out- 
ward happiness — it  may  be  its  gaiety  and  splen- 
dor, who  are  yet  obviously  and  notoriously 
strangers  to  goodness  and  to  grace.  And  do 
you  need  to  ask  why  such  a  state  of  matters,  far 
from  being  desirable,  is  to  be  deprecated  and  de- 
plored ? 

Is  it  fanciful  to  say,  for  one  thing,  that  to  a 
serious  mind  there  is  something  singularly  sad 
and  affecting  in  the  very  contrast  which  such  a 
spectacle  presents  ?  The  rich,  gay,  happy,  out- 
ward life,  and  the  dark  moral  antithesis  within  ! 
It  is  good  to  be  gay,  where  the  gaiety  is  real. 
But  it  is  not  good,  it  is  not  seemly,  it  is,  sooth 
to  say,  the  sorrowfullest  thing  under  heaven,  to 
be  gay  where  there  is  every  reason  to  be  sad. 
Who  loves  not  to  listen  to  the  merry  ringing 
laugh  of  childhood,  for  it  is  the  utterance  of  a 
heart  that  is  yet  a  stranger  to  care  ?  But  have 
you  not  felt  that  there  is  something  awful  in  the 


286  SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY. 

maniac's  mirth — something  that  grates  upon  the 
mind's  sense  of  reality,  in  the  hollow  merriment 

"  Of  moody  madness  laughing  wild, 
Amid  severest  woe  ?" 

Right  pleasant,  too,  it  is  to  behold  the  ruddy 
hue  on  the  cheek,  and  the  bright  sparkle  in  the 
eye  of  health.  But  have  you  never  felt  that  no 
sight  is  so  truly  melancholy  as  the  unnatural 
brightness  in  the  eye,  or  the  glow  that  often 
gathers  on  consumption's  cheek,  the  more 
beautiful  as  the  end  draweth  near  ?  And  yet, 
sad  though  these  contrasts  are,  there  is  some- 
thing more  truly  pitiful,  there  is  a  more  awful, 
because  a  moral  sadness,  in  the  sight  which  the 
minions  of  outward  prosperity,  of  worldly  com- 
fort and  happiness,  not  seldom  present  to  a 
thoughtful  observer's  eye.  Surveying  the  spec- 
tacle of  the  world-throng  around  us — thought- 
less, busy,  careless,  godless  men  and  women, 
happy  amid  the  empty  din  and  joy  of  life,  and 
yet  remembering  what  is  beneath  all  this,  and 
whither,  unless  religion  be  one  great  lie,  all  this 
is  tending,  have  you  never  felt,  in  moments  of 


SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY.  287 

seriousness,  an  impression  as  if  of  something 
awful  in  this  happiness  of  man  ?  Looking  on 
an  irreligious  man's  life,  mindful  how  rapidly 
the  stream  of  time  is  bearing  him  onward  to  the 
unseen,  does  there  not  force  itself  on  the  mind 
a  sense  of  something  horribly  incongruous  in  all 
this  gaiety,  as  were  the  mirth  of  men  in  a  sink- 
ing ship,  or  wild  shouts  of  laughter  from  some 
crew  hurrying  onward  to  the  torrent's  brink  ! 

"  Whom  call  we  gay  ?     That  honor  has  been  long 
The  boast  of  mere  pretenders  to  the  name, 
The  innocent  are  gay." 

But  oh,  if  God  be  true,  if  Christ  be  true,  if 
heaven  and  hell  be  true,  save  us  from  the  gaiety 
of  such  as  these  ! 

Again,  as  a  second  consideration,  I  need 
scarcely  do  more  than  simply  express  the 
thought,  that  outward  prosperity  is  not  desirable 
for  a  man's  own  sake,  if  unaccompanied  by  in- 
ward, because  of  the  bad  moral  influence  which 
it  has  on  his  own  character.  Outward  pros- 
perity, unattended  by  inward,  is  not  only  an  in- 
congruous, but  also  a  positively  injurious  thing. 


288  SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY. 

For  an  irreligious  man,  nothing  is  more  to  be 
deprecated  than  an  uninterrupted  flow  of  worldly 
good.  It  may  look  like  the  mere  commonplace 
language  of  the  pulpit,  yet  universal  experience 
proves  it  to  be  the  language  of  truth,  to  say  that 
it  is  not  good  for  any  man,  even  the  holiest  and 
best  of  us,  to  be  quite  happy  here,  as  to  out- 
ward things.  But  where  there  is  little  or  no 
strength  of  religious  principle  in  the  soul,  an  un- 
broken continuance  of  worldly  happiness  will 
almost  infallibly  exert  a  deteriorating  influence 
on  the  character.  Only  in  proportion  as  the 
dew  of  God's  hidden  grace  is  descending  on  the 
heart,  can  it  be  safe  for  a  man  to  be  exposed  to 
the  hot  sun  of  worldly  prosperity ;  and  if  that 
secret  element  of  strength  and  fertility  be  not 
continually  supplied,  the  scorching  heat  must 
speedily  wither  up,  in  the  spiritual  soil,  every 
green  and  beautiful  thing. 

May  I  not  appeal,  on  this  point,  to  the  experi- 
ence of  the  people  of  God,  of  those  who  have 
ever  attempted  in  good  earnest  to  lead  a  holy 
life?  Have  you  not  felt — may  I  not  say  to 
many  such  ? — how  incessant  is  the  tendency  of 


SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY.  289 

even  the  innocent  pleasures  and  possessions  of 
life  to  draw  off  your  heart  from  God  and  from 
divine  things  ?  Ease,  comfort,  social  intercourse, 
the  luxuries  and  enjoyments  of  a  prosperous  con- 
dition, have  you  not  felt  that  these  have  a  fatal, 
because  a  most  stealthy  and  insidious  power  to 
hurt  the  soul  ?  If  you  have  been  or  are  now  sur- 
rounded by  these  things, — nay,  if  even  a  share 
of  worldly  comfort  by  no  means  extraordinary 
has  fallen  to  your  lot,  is  it  not  so  that  only  by 
the  most  unremitting  watchfulness  and  prayer 
and  secret  self-discipline,  can  you  be  protected 
from  their  seductive  influences  ?  And  as  often 
as  you  have  allowed  yourself  to  intermit  these 
secret  exercises,  has  not  your  experience  ever 
been,  that  gradually  and  imperceptibly  con- 
science is  deprived  of  its  sensitiveness,  love  to 
God  and  to  Christ  Jesus  droops  and  languishes, 
and  the  strength  of  your  renewed  will,  your 
powers  of  self-denial  and  of  Christian  activity, 
become  enfeebled.  Encompassed  on  all  sides 
by  the  world's  obtrusive,  importunate  pursuits 
and  pleasures,  only  abandon  yourself  to  them, 
only  let  them  for  ever  so  brief  a  period  engross 

13 


Caird. 


290  SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY. 

an  undue  share  of  your  thoughts,  and  the  inevi- 
table consequence  will  be  that  prayer,  self-exam- 
ination, meditation  on  divine  things,  become 
irksome  and  distasteful,  that  the  mind's  jealousy 
of  doubtful  pleasures  and  equivocal  acts  of  con- 
formity to  the  world  is  relaxed,  and  that  the 
whole  tone  of  your  spiritual  life  is  lowered. 
There  is,  indeed,  a  mighty  oblivion-power  in  the 
things  of  time  and  sense.  Insignificant  in  them- 
selves, their  comparative  nearness  makes  them 
seem  great ;  so  that  unless  the  far-seeing  eye  of 
faith  be  kept  continually  bright  and  clear,  they 
speedily  eclipse  in  our  sight  the  things  un- 
seen and  eternal,  just  as  the  light  of  the  sun, 
though  of  greatly  inferior  intensity,  hides  from 
our  view  by  day  the  distant  brightness  of  the 
stars. 

And  if  thus  worldly  prosperity,  without  a 
corresponding  increase  of  spiritual  strength,  be 
dangerous  even  to  the  people  of  God,  how  much 
more  so  to  others  !  What  must  it  be  to  be  ex- 
posed to  its  baneful  influences,  with  no  strength 
of  inward  principle,  no  sustaining  power  of  di- 
vine grace  to  counteract  and  resist  them  ?  What, 


SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY.  291 

I  ask,  to  bring  it  to  the  test  of  experience,  is 
the  effect  upon  any  worldly  man's  mind,  now 
present,  of  his  increasing  business,  and  growing 
wealth  and  influence  and  importance  among  his 
fellow-men ;  what  is  the  obvious  result  of  all  the 
stir  and  bustle  of  worldly  things  around  him, 
but  to  keep  up  the  dream  of  folly  and  indiffer- 
ence in  this  life,  and  to  confirm  him  in  his  in- 
sane heedlessness  of  what  is  beyond  it !  How 
intensely  selfish  and  worldly  does  such  a  man's 
heart  become  when  there  has  been  little  for  a 
long  while  to  mar  or  interrupt  his  outward  com- 
fort and  happiness  !  His  whole  soul  becomes  of 
the  earth,  earthy.  You  cannot  cross  the  thres- 
hold of  his  home  without  feeling  how  low  and 
unspiritual  is  the  atmosphere  in  which  he 
breathes,  how  in  the  world  and  its  good  things 
his  whole  delight  is  placed.  And  every  year, 
if  you  watch  the  process,  you  will  perceive  how 
the  softness  of  a  prosperous  life  is  imbedding 
him  more  firmly  in  his  selfish  worldliness,  like 
moss  gathering  round  a  motionless  stone.  Would 
one  who  really  desired  this  man's  welfare  wish 
for  him  a  continuance  or  increase  of  worldly 


292  SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY. 

good  ?  Would  not  his  truest  friend  rather  long 
and  pray  that  his  fatal  tranquillity  might  be  in- 
terrupted— that,  if  need  be,  poverty,  sickness, 
bereavement  itself  might  invade  his  home — any- 
thing, any  affliction,  however  sharp  and  sudden, 
by  which  this  hollow  peace,  this  ruinous  security, 
might  be  broken  up  ? 

But  I  have  said  that  it  is  not  only  for  a  man's 
own  good,  but  also  for  the  good  of  others,  that  he 
should  prosper  outwardly  only  in  the  measure  in 
which  his  soul  prospereth.  "  Beloved,  I  wish  that 
thou  wouldst  prosper  even  as  thy  soul  pros- 
pereth," is  the  apostle's  wish ;  and  to  this  we 
would  add  this  other  comment,  "  for  if  thy  soul 
prospereth,  if  thy  heart  be  right  with  God,  then 
the  world  will  get  the  good  of  whatever  outward 
prosperity,  whatever  wealth  or  power  or  influ- 
ence, God  is  pleased  to  send  thee."  For,  ob- 
viously, wealth,  power,  influence,  all  outward 
advantages,  are  just  so  many  means  of  doing 
good  or  evil  put  into  a  man's  hands ;  and  whether 
such  advantages  shall  be  for  the  benefit  or  in- 
jury of  mankind,  depends  on  the  inward  charac- 
ter of  him  to  whom  they  are  intrusted.  Man- 


SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY.  293 

kind  are  losers  when  a  selfish  man  prospers ; 
they  are  gainers  by  the  prosperity  of  the  gener- 
ous and  liberal-minded.  The  latter  receive  the 
blessing  of  God's  providence  as  the  sun  receives 
light,  to  brighten  and  gladden  the  world,  or  as 
the  healthy  plant  the  influences  of  nature,  to 
scatter  them  abroad  in  fertility  and  fragrance 
again.  The  former,  on  the  contrary,  like  an  ex- 
crescence on  the  fruit-tree  absorbing  the  mois- 
ture that  might  have  gone  to  produce  leaves  and 
fruit,  receive  any  blessing  at  God's  hand  only  to 
retain  or  abuse  it :  or,  like  a  rank  weed,  draw  in 
the  genial  influences  of  the  soil  and  atmosphere 
of  life  only  to  poison  all  the  air  around  them. 
But  if  this  be  so,  well  may  we  desire,  for  the 
world's  sake,  that  those  may  prosper  and  be  in 
health,  whose  souls  are  prospering.  For  this  is 
indeed  but  another  form  of  expressing  the  wish, 
that  they  who  have  the  desire  and  inclination  to 
do  good  may  also  have  the  power.  Are  there 
those  among  us  who  have  learned  the  secret  of 
unselfish  love,  where  alone  it  is  to  be  truly 
learned,  at  the  Cross  of  Jesus  ?  Beholding  the 
glory  of  Him  whose  very  name  is  Love  in  the 


294  SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY. 

face  of  Him  whose  whole  life  was  but  one  living 
and  breathing  utterance  of  love,  and  whose  death 
was  the  triumph  of  pure,  unmingled,  self-devoted 
love,  are  they  becoming  more  and  more  con- 
formed in  spirit  to  the  object  of  their  adoration? 
In  one  word,  believers  as  they  profess  to  be  in 
Him  who  pleased  not  Himself,  are  there  those 
now  hearing  me  who  are  longing  and  aspiring 
daily  after  a  more  gentle,  holy,  compassionate, 
Christ-like  spirit  ? — then,  indeed,  on  their  behalf 
may  all  men  unite  in  uttering  the  aspiration  of 
the  text.  They  "  seek  not  their  own."  They 
"  look  not  on  their  own  things,  but  on  the  things 
of  others."  They  are  ever  ready  to  "  bear  the 
burdens"  of  others  that  they  may  "fulfil  the  law 
of  Christ."  They  are  God's  agents  in  scattering 
His  bounty  over  the  world.  They  consecrate 
their  wealth,  power,  influence  to  God's  glory 
and  the  world's  good.  Prosperity  descends  upon 
them  like  rain  upon  a  river,  that  they  may  dif- 
fuse its  blessings  wherever  they  go.  Who  then 
will  refuse  on  behalf  of  such  to  echo  the  prayer, 
"  We  wish  above  all  things  that  ye  would  prosper 
and  be  in  health,  even  as  your  souls  prosper  ?" 


SPIRITUAL    PROSPERITY.  295 

And  now,  my  friends,  let  me  only  ask  in  con- 
clusion, can  we  utter  such  a  wish  as  that  of  the 
text  on  your  behalf?  Can  we  desire  for  all,  for 
many  now  present,  that  they  may  prosper  out- 
wardly as  their  souls  are  prospering  ?  Alas !  in 
the  case  of  how  many  must  it  be  confessed  that 
such  a  wish  would  be  an  imprecation  instead  of 
a  prayer,  a  covert  invocation,  not  of  blessings 
but  of  curses  on  their  heads.  For  only  think 
what  would  be  the  effect,  if  to  each  one  in  this 
assembly  it  should  indeed  be  granted  to  prosper 
just  as  his  soul  is  prospering — to  be  in  body 
and  in  outward  condition,  in  health,  wealth,  for- 
tunes, just  as  he  is  inwardly  in  the  sight  of  God. 
How  few  would  be  outwardly  bettered — on  how 
many  would  the  outward  change  be  sad  and 
shocking  to  behold  !  Let  the  body  be  as  the 
soul  is,  and  how  many,  who  are  now  seen  in 
youth  and  health  and  comeliness  of  aspect, 
would  instantly  assume  the  withered  and  wast- 
ed look  of  age  and  disease !  how  many  would 
become  forms  and  shapes  from  which  the  eye 
with  instinctive  disgust  would  turn  away !  Or 
let  it  be  granted  that  every  one  in  this  house 


296      SPIKITUAL  PROSPERITY. 

shall  become  in  wealth  and  worldly  condition 
just  what  he  is  in  soul ;  and  alas !  are  there  not 
more  than  one  or  two,  comfortable,  easy,  luxuri- 
ous in  outward  circumstances  now,  whom  such 
a  law  would  render  bankrupt  in  body  as  they 
already  are  in  soul,  who  would  leave  this  house 
poorer  than  the  poorest  wretch  that  shrinks  to- 
night into  poverty's  squalidest  den  ?  Ask  your- 
self, each  one  who  now  hears  me,  "  Am  I  such 
as  this  ?  If  my  body  were  made  like  my  soul, 
would  I  become  diseased  and  impoverished,  if 
now  rich  or  strong,  or  if  poor  or  feeble,  more 
wasted  and  poverty-struck  still?"  In  plain 
terms,  let  me  ask,  Have  you  any  ground  to 
think  that  your  soul  is  prospering  ?  Have  you 
any  evidence  that  it  has  ever  even  begun  to  be 
well  with  your  soul  ?  Can  you  honestly  say 
that  you  have  any  love  to  Christ  in  your  heart? 
Are  you  making  any  real  effort  to  drive  sin  out 
of  your  soul  ?  Is  your  daily  life  governed  by 
inclination  or  by  duty — by  the  desire  to  please 
God,  or  by  the  reckless  determination,  at  all 
hazards,  to  please  self  ?  You  know  what  it  is 
to  be  made  happy  by  outward  prosperity,  or 


SPIRITUAL    PROSPERITY.  297 

sorry  by  outward  adversity — to  be  grieved  or 
gladdened  by  worldly  gain  or  loss :  Have  you 
any  such  definite  consciousness  of  joy  or  sorrow 
about  your  soul's  progress  or  declension  ?  You 
have  felt  real  pain  many  a  time,  for  instance,  for 
the  loss  of  money,  or  of  some  place  or  project 
on  which  you  had  set  your  heart :  Have  you 
ever  felt  any  such  undeniable  pain  for  sin  ?  Do 
you  remember  any  time  in  your  past  life  when  sin 
cost  you  real  trouble  and  sorrow  of  heart,  when 
you  were  distressed  to  have  been  betrayed  into 
it  yourself,  or  grieved  to  behold  it  in  others  ? 
As  a  man  is  eager  to  retrieve  his  loss  when  he 
discovers  himself  to  have  fallen  behind  in  his 
worldly  circumstances,  .are  you  conscious  of 
having  ever  made  any  real,  resolute  effort,  of 
having  been  at  pains  to  set  your  soul  right  with 
God,  to  get  the  better  of  worldly  or  unholy  de- 
sires and  habits  in  your  inward  character  ?  As 
you  would  rejoice  at  success  in  the  one  case,  so 
if  you  have  really  succeeded  in  the  other,  if 
your  soul  has  been  reconciled  to  the  Father  of 
spirits,  if  you  discern  in  it  the  marks  of  a  pro- 
gressive meetness  for  heaven,  you  cannot  fail  to 

13* 


298  S  P  1 11  I  T  U  A  L     P  11  0  S  P  E  11  I T  Y  . 

have  experienced  some  delight  at  the  discovery. 
Are  you  conscious  of  this?  Or  if  you  have 
been  conscious  of  no  spiritual  progress,  of  no 
advancement  in  holiness  to  give  you  this  joy  in 
time  past,  would  it  rejoice  you  to  get  it  now  ? 
If  you  had  your  choice  to-day  of  poverty  with 
Christ,  or  riches  and  all  worldly  comfort  and 
happiness  without  Him,  which  would  you 
choose  ?  What  you  most  value  yourself,  you 
will  most  desire  for  your  children,  or  your 
friends.  Ask  your  heart,  and  let  it  honestly 
reply,  whether  it  would  give  you  more  pleasure 
to  see  your  family  and  friends  get  on  well  in 
the  world,  get  good  places,  grow  rich  and  hon- 
ored of  men,  or  to  see  them  grow  up  good,  holy, 
pious-minded  men  and  women  ?  It  grieves  us, 
my  dear  friends,  to  think  what  kind  of  answer 
many,  many  must  make,  if  they  speak  sincerely, 
to  such  inquiries  as  these.  And  if  it  be  with 
you,  as  we  fear  it  is,  surely  never  could  a  Chris- 
tian friend  address  you  in  the  language  of  the 
text,  Godless,  Cluistless,  utterly  unhappy  in 
spirit,  your  worst  enemy  could  not  utter  a  more 
malignant  wish  than  that  you  should  prosper 


SPIRITUAL     PROSPERITY.  299 

and  be  in  health  just  as  your  soul  is  prospering. 
And  destitute  as  you  are  of  true  love  to  Christ, 
and  to  your  fellow-men,  to  wish  you  outward 
prosperity,  despite  of  your  soul's  state,  would 
be  a  wish  even  more  inconsistent  still  with  your 
best  welfare  and  theirs.  You  have  never  shown 
any  disposition  to  serve  God,  or  promote  your 
brother's  good  with  the  means  you  possess ;  and 
to  wish  you  more  wealth  or  influence,  would 
only  be  to  desire  for  you  increase  of  responsi- 
bility and  increase  of  guilt.  You,  whom  God 
has  already  blessed  with  health,  or  wealth,  or 
influence,  which  you  have  consumed  on  self,  or 
spent  on  sin,  could  the  best  friend  you  have  on 
earth  wish  you  more  of  these  ?  As  soon  wish 
that  fuel  may  be  added  to  the  raging  fire,  or 
fresh  lading  to  the  sinking  ship ; — as  soon  wish 
that  treasures  of  gold  may  be  cast  into  the  sea, 
as  into  the  cold,  thankless,  all-engulfing  selfish- 
ness of  the  spirit  within  you  ! 


Christian's 


"  All  things  are  yours  ;  whether  Paul,  or  Apollos,  or  Cephas,  or 
the  world,  or  life,  or  death,  or  things  present,  or  things  to 
come  ;  all  are  yours  ;  and  ye  are  Christ's  ;  and  Christ  is 
God's."—  1  COR.  iii.  21,  22,  23. 

THE  unloveliness  of  envy,  jeal- 
&EKM.  IX.  .  . 

ousy,  pride,  and  the  kindred  vices, 

which  spring  from  the  common  root  of  selfish- 
ness, is  never  so  apparent  as  when  these  vices 
manifest  themselves  amongst  those  who  bear  the 
Christian  name.  Yet  the  history  of  the  Church 
but  too  often  exhibits  the  strange  anomaly  of  a 
religion  of  love  producing  the  keenest  haters, 
and  a  gospel  of  peace  engendering  strifes  and 
animosities  more  bitter  than  the  disputes  and 
rivalries  of  the  profane.  It  is  a  very  early  man- 
ifestation of  this  unhallowed  spirit  on  which  St. 
Paul  animadverts  in  the  passage  before  us.  The 
Christians  at  Corinth  had  quarrelled  with  each 
other  on  the  merits  of  their  respective  teachers 
—  each  party  boasting  of  the  pre-eminent  wis- 


THE   CHRISTIAN'S    HERITAGE.     301 

dom  or  eloquence  of  its  own  head,  and  con- 
temning the  gifts  of  his  supposed  rivals.  The 
apostle  rebukes  this  unholy  strife,  characteris- 
ing it  as  not  only  unlovely,  but,  among  Chris- 
tians singularly  foolish  and  irrational.  And  the 
thought  by  which  he  enforces  this  representa- 
tion is  a  very  striking  one.  Religious  rivalries 
and  competitions  involve,  he  alleges,  not  only  a 
sin,  but  an  absurdity,  inasmuch  as  it  is  the  pe- 
culiar property  of  that  which  is  the  object  of 
contention,  that  it  is  not  lost  to  any  one  man 
by  another's  gain.  Each  man's  share  of  the 
divine  treasure  is  not  diminished,  but  rather 
increased,  by  reason  of  the  multitude  of  par- 
ticipants. The  prize  gained  by  one  earnest 
runner  in  the  Christian  race  is  not  therefore 
lost,  but  rather  rendered  doubly  secure  and 
precious  to  the  other  competitors.  In  the  pur- 
suit of  wealth  it  may  be  natural,  however  culpa- 
ble, to  begrudge  another  his  gains,  or  to  be 
elated  at  our  own  ;  for  wealth  is  a  limited  good. 
Your  money  cannot  be  yours  and  mine  at  the 
same  time ;  what  you  gain  I  may  lose ;  it  is  pos- 
sible for  you  to  be  enriched  at  my  expense. 


302    THE    CHRISTIAN'S   HERITAGE. 

Neither,  again,  is  it  irrational,  though  it  may  be 
sinful,  to  contend  with  others  for  power,  rank, 
social  greatness  ;  for  the  very  ideas  of  power, 
rank,  greatness,  imply  their  opposites— subjec- 
tion, lowliness,  inferiority.  That  one  man  at- 
tains to  place  or  power,  implies  that  others  miss 
or  lose  it ;  the  successful  man  rises,  not  seldom, 
on  the  ruin  of  his  rivals.  But  with  respect  to 
spiritual  good — the  gains  and  advantages  of  re- 
ligion— it  is  altogether  different.  These  belong 
to  that  class  of  blessings  which  possess  the 
qualities  of  universality  and  inexhaustibleness. 
The  light  of  the  sun  is  not  the  less  bright  to 
me  that  it  beams  at  the  same  moment  on  mil- 
lions of  my  fellow-men.  The  beauty  which  I 
behold  in  earth  and  sea  and  skies  is  not  dimin- 
ished to  me  because  of  the  multitude  of  specta- 
tors who  may  share  in  my  delight.  A  thing  of 
beauty  is  not  only  a  "joy  forever,"  but  a  uni- 
versal joy.  Of  a  thousand  men  who  may  behold 
the  same  landscape,  each  may  be  said  to  possess 
all  its  beauty.  In  like  manner  those  blessings 
which  constitute  the  Christian's  portion — Truth, 
Love,  Beauty,  Goodness — may  become  the  com- 


THE     C  II  li  I  S  T  I A  N  '  S     HERITAGE.       303 

mon  possession  of  myriads,  each  one  of  whom 
may  yet  be  said  to  possess  the  whole.  The 
same  truths  which  fill  my  mind  may  become  the 
spiritual  nutriment  of  all  my  fellow-believers,  un- 
diminished  to  me  though  other  minds  apprehend 
them.  The  love  to  Christ  which  burns  in  one 
Christian's  breast,  does  not  become  enfeebled  if 
other  hearts  catch  the  flame  from  his,  but  rather 
by  contact  of  congenial  elements,  glows  in  each 
separate  heart  with  a  fervor  all  the  more  intense. 
The  peace  of  God  may  be  diffused  through  the 
spirits  of  a  multitude  which  no  man  can  number, 
and  yet  each  redeemed  soul  may  say  of  it,  "  It 
is  all  my  own" — nay,  better  than  if  all  or  ex- 
clusively his  own ;  for  it  is  a  peace,  a  joy,  a 
happiness,  which,  by  the  electric  flash  of  sym- 
pathy passing  from  heart  to  heart,  becomes,  by 
reason  of  the  multitudes  who  share  it,  redoubled, 
multiplied,  boundlessly  increased  to  each.  Let 
no  man,  therefore,  in  spiritual  things,  glory  in 
his  own  or  envy  another's  good ;  for  to  every 
individual  member  of  Christ's  church  it  may  be 
said,  "  Whatever  others  have  obtained,  still  the 
whole,  the  illimitable  all  of  Truth  and  Love  and 


304    THE    CHRISTIAN'S   HERITAGE. 

Joy,  is  left  for  you."  "  All  things  are  yours  ; 
whether  Paul,  or  Apollos,  or  Cephas,  or  the 
world,  or  life,  or  death,  or  things  present,  or 
things  to  come  ;  all  are  yours." 

I  shall  endeavor  to  illustrate  this  statement 
of  the  apostle,  "  All  things  are  yours,"  first,  by 
a  general  argument,  and  then  by  passing  in  re- 
view one  or  two  of  those  special  blessings  which 
are  enumerated  in  this  catalogue  of  the  Chris- 
tian's possessions. 

I.  It  may  help  to  explain  the  universal  pro- 
prietorship here  ascribed  to  Christians,  if  you 
consider  that  the  believer  may  be  said  to  possess 
all  things  in  God. 

The  mind  of  a  great  author  is  more  precious 
than  his  books,  the  genius  of  a  great  artist  than 
the  most  exquisite  productions  of  his  hand ;  and 
if  it  were  at  our  option  to  possess  all  the  works 
of  the  greatest  mind,  or  to  be  ourselves  endowed 
with  a  portion  of  that  intellectual  power  from 
which  they  emanated,  who  would  hesitate  in  his 
choice  ?  To  have  the  mind  is  better  than  to 
have  merely  the  products  of  that  mind.  Give 


THE    CHEISTIAN'S    HERITAGE.     305 

the  fountain,  and  you  virtually  have  the  streams 
— the  creative  origin,  and  you  possess  that 
which  is  better  than  any  special  manifestation 
of  its  power.  But  no  earthly  or  finite  mind  can 
transfer  its  gifts  to  another ;  the  superior  nature 
can  never  make  over  a  share  of  its  inner  intel- 
lectual or  moral  power  as  a  dowry  to  the  in- 
ferior. Yet  this  transfusion  of  minds,  inconceiv- 
able between  finite  and  created  beings,  is  not 
inconceivable  between  the  created  mind  and 
God.  There  is  a  sense  in  which  we  may  be- 
come sharers  of  that  Mind  from  which  all  that  is 
true  and  good  and  fair  in  the  universe  proceeds. 
It  is  given  to  us  not  only  to  see,  admire,  and 
share  in  the  works  of  the  Great  Author  of  all, 
but  to  become  endowed  with  the  very  mind,  im- 
bued in  our  inmost  being,  with  the  very  Spirit 
and  Being  of  God.  It  is  a  thought  which  lies 
at  the  foundation  of  all  true  religion,  that  God 
Himself  is  the  supreme  Good,  the  true  and  real 
portion  of  the  soul.  As  there  is  an  affinity  be- 
tween the  Intellect  and  Truth,  between  the 
Imagination  and  Beauty,  between  the  Con- 
science and  Goodness,  so  there  is  a  deep  and  in- 


306     THE    CHRISTIAN'S    HERITAGE. 

enable  harmony  between  the  whole  spiritual 
nature  of  man  and  that  Infinite  Being  in  whom 
is  all  Truth,  all  Goodness,  all  Beauty.  So  that 
as  really  as  true,  or  noble,  or  holy  thoughts  pass 
into  and  become  a  portion  of  the  mind  which 
apprehends  them,  does  God  communicate  Him- 
self, diffuse  His  own  divine  Spirit  through  the 
spirit  of  the  believer.  More  intimately  than 
light  becomes  the  possession  of  the  eye  on  which 
it  streams,  or  air  of  the  organs  of  breathing  that 
inhale  it,  or  the  food  we  eat,  assimilated  and  dif- 
fused through  the  physical  system,  incorporates 
itself  with  the  nature  of  him  who  partakes  of  it, 
does  He,  that  Infinite  One,  the  Light  of  all  our 
seeing,  the  Bread  of  Life,  the  nutriment  of  our 
highest  being,  become  the  deep  inward  portion 
of  each  soul  that  loves  Him.  The  happiness  of 
this  mysterious  nature  of  ours,  is  never  to  be 
found  merely  in  the  possession  of  God's  gifts, 
the  works  of  His  hand,  or  the  bounties  of  His 
providence.  The  soul  can  find  its  true  satisfac- 
tion only  in  rising  beyond  the  gifts,  and  claim- 
ing the  Giver  as  its  own.  When  you  covet  the 
friendship  or  love  of  a  fellow-man,  it  does  not 


THE    CHRISTIAN'S    HERITAGE.     307 

satisfy  you  that  he  bestows  upon  you  only  out- 
ward gifts — his  money,  his  property,  his  books 
— what  cares  a  loving,  longing  heart  for  these  ? 
Unless  the  man  give  you  something  more  than 
these,  give  you  himself,  and  become  yours  by  the 
bond  of  deepest  sympathy  and  affection,  the  rest 
are  but  worthless  boons.  So  is  it  in  the  soul's 
relations  with  God.  That  after  which,  as  by  a 
mysterious  and  inborn  affinity,  every  devout 
spirit  yearns,  is  not  God's  gifts  and  bounties,  but 
Himself.  The  wealth  of  worlds  would  be,  to  the 
heart  longing  after  Deity,  a  miserable  substitute 
for  one  look  of  love  from  the  Great  Father's  eye. 
"  My  soul  thirsteth  for  God,"  is  the  language  in 
which  Scripture  gives  expression  to  this  deep 
want  of  our  nature,  and  points  to  the  ineffable 
satisfaction  provided  for  it, — "  My  soul  thirsteth 
for  God,  for  the  living  God."— "  As  the  hart 
panteth  after  the  water-brooks,  so  panteth  my 
soul  after  Thee,  0  God  ! " — "  If  any  man  love 
Me,  My  Father  will  love  him,  and  We  will 
come  unto  him,  and  take  up  Our  abode  with 
him." — "  I  in  them,  and  thou  in  me,  that  they 
may  be  made  perfect  in  one." 


308     THE    CHRISTIAN'S    HERITAGE. 

Now,  admitting  the  truth  of  this  thought,  that 
in  some  way,  however  mysterious  or  incapable 
of  being  fully  expressed  in  words,  God  is  Him- 
self the  immediate  possession  or  portion  of  the 
soul,  then  the  argument  of  the  text  becomes  an 
obvious  and  conclusive  one.  As  the  scattered 
rays  of  light  are  all  included  in  the  focus, 
as  the  fountain  contains  the  streams,  as  the 
object  reflected  is  prior  to  and  nobler  than  the 
different  reflections  of  it — so  all  finite  and 
created  good  is  contained  in  Him  who  is  the 
Supreme  Good  ;  all  earthly  excellence  is  but  the 
partial  emanation,  the  more  or  less  bright  reflec- 
tion of  the  Great  Original.  To  have  a  portion, 
therefore,  in  God,  is  to  possess  that  which  in- 
cludes in  itself  all  created  good.  The  man  who 
is  in  possession  of  some  great  masterpiece  in 
painting  or  sculpture,  need  not  envy  others  who 
have  only  casts  or  copies  of  it.  The  original 
plate  or  stereotype  is  more  valuable  than  any 
impressions  or  engravings  thrown  off  from  it; 
and  he  who  owns  the  former,  owns  that  which 
includes,  is  capable  of  producing,  all  the  latter. 
So,  if  it  be  given  to  any  human  spirit  to  know 


THE   CUHISTIAN'S   HERITAGE.     309 

and  enjoy  God,  to  be  admitted  to  the  fellowship, 
and  have  a  portion  in  the  very  being  of  the  In- 
finite, then  is  that  spirit  possessor  of  that 
whereof  "  Paul,  Apollos,  Cephas,"  "  the  World" 
— all  material,  and  all  mental  excellence,  is  but 
the  faint  copy,  the  weak  and  blurred  transcript. 
Surveying  the  wonders  of  creation,  or  even  with 
the  Word  of  inspiration  in  his  hand,  the  Chris- 
tian can  say,  "  Glorious  though  these  things  be, 
to  me  belongs  that  which  is  more  glorious  far. 
The  streams  are  precious,  but  I  have  the  Foun- 
tain ;  the  vesture  is  beautiful,  but  the  Wearer  is 
mine  ;  the  portrait  in  its  every  lineament  is 
lovely,  but  the  Great  Original  whose  beauty  it 
but  feebly  depicts,  is  my  own.  '  God  is  my 
portion,  the  Lord  is  mine  inheritance/  To  me 
belongs  all  actual  and  all  possible  good,  all 
created  and  uncreated  beauty,  all  that  eye  hath 
seen  or  imagination  conceived;  and  more  than 
that,  for  '  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  nor 
hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive 
what  God  hath  prepared  for  them  that  love 
Him,' — all  things  and  beings,  all  that  life  reveals 
or  death  conceals,  everything  within  the  bound- 


310     THE    CHRISTIAN'S    HERITAGE. 

less  possibilities  of  creating  wisdom  and  power, 
is  mine ;  for  God,  the  Creator  and  Fountain  of 
all,  is  mine." 

II.  Passing  from  this  general  view  of  the 
subject,  I  shall  now  endeavor  to  illustrate  the 
assertion,  "  all  things  are  yours,"  by  adverting 
to  one  or  two  of  the  special  blessings  here  enu- 
merated, as  constituting  parts  of  the  Christian's 
universal  inheritance.  I  shall  take,  as  specimens, 
these  three,—"  The  World,"  "  Life,"  "  Death." 

I.  In  what  sense,  then,  to  take  the  first  of 
these,  may  the  Christian  understand  the  an- 
nouncement— "  The  World  is  yours  ?"  Not, 
obviously,  in  the  literal  sense  of  the  words. 
This  earth  is  not  the  exclusive  property  of  the 
good.  Christians  are  not,  of  necessity,  lords  of 
its  soil  or  possessors  of  its  wealth.  It  was  not 
their  Master,  but  another  who,  displaying  "  all 
the  kingdoms  of  the  world,  and  the  glory  of 
them,"  said,  "  All  these  will  I  give  thee,  if  thou 
wilt  fall  down  and  worship  me."  As  often  as 
otherwise  the  rich  in  faith  are  poor  in  this 
world's  possessions.  Many  a  one,  "of  whom 


THE  CHRISTIAN'S  HERITAGE.     311 

the  world  was  not  worthy,"  never  owned  a 
hand's-breadth  of  its  soil,  till  he  possessed  that 
which  to  the  veriest  wretch  is  not  denied — a 
grave.  Of  the  purest,  noblest,  best  of  the  sons 
of  men,  it  is  written,  that  often  "  He  had  not 
where  to  lay  His  head ;"  and  even  that  last 
resting-place  to  which  his  marred  and  bleeding 
form  was  borne,  the  hand  of  charity  bestowed. 
No !  not  literally  can  it  be  said  to  Christ's  fol- 
lowers on  earth,  "  The  world  is  yours." 

But  if  not  literally,  yet  in  this  sense  may  the 
world  be  said  to  belong  to  the  Christian,  that 
he  only  has  a  legitimate  title  to  the  benefits  and 
blessings  he  enjoys  in  it.  This  earth  was  not 
meant  to  be  the  home  of  evil.  The  make  and 
structure  of  the  world  is  for  good.  Nothing  in 
it,  save  by  abuse,  has  any  affinity  with  sin. 
Its  foundations  were  not  laid  of  old  by  Omnipo- 
tence, nor  its  wondrous  laws  contrived  and  or- 
dered by  Infinite  Wisdom,  nor  its  garniture  of 
beauty  spread  over  it  by  the  loving  hand  of 
God,  only  that  a  luxurious  home  might  be  pro- 
vided for  selfishness  and  impurity.  God's  sun 
was  not  created  to  shine,  nor  His  rain  to  fall, 


312     THE   CHKISTIAN'S  HEKITAGE. 

nor  His  seasons  made  in  orderly  course  to  re- 
turn, and  all  the  processes  contrived  by  which 
Nature  yielded  up  her  annual  abundance,  only 
that  it  might  be  poured  into  the  lap  of  folly, 
and  prolong  the  existence  of  ingratitude  and 
vice.  Even  mute  and  material  things,  the  laws 
and  agencies  of  nature,  have  in  them  something 
that  asserts  their  divine  origin,  and  proclaims 
that  wrong  is  done  to  them — that  they  are  in 
an  unnatural  and  distorted  condition — when 
forced  into  the  service  of  sin.  How  exquisite, 
for  instance,  is  that  mechanism  which  we  are 
at  this  moment  employing,  by  which  thought 
embodied  in  articulate  sounds  goes  forth  upon 
the  viewless  air,  and  by  its  invisible  agency 
is  conveyed  from  the  preacher's  lip  to  the  ears, 
and  so  to  the  minds  of  his  auditory !  What 
mechanism  contrived  by  human  art  can  compare 
with  God's  mechanism  of  speech  and  sound  ? 
And  when  this  wondrous  engine  is  compelled  to 
carry  hither  and  thither  words  of  selfishness, 
and  malice,  and  unkindness — when  it  is  laden 
with  the  swearer's  oath  or  the  slanderer's  lie — 
when  it  is  forced  to  hurry  on,  burdened  with 


THE  CHRISTIAN'S  HERITAGE.     313 

impurities  and  blasphemies  —  is  it  employed  for 
its  destined  end,  is  it  rightfully  used,  or  not 
rather  fearfully  perverted  and  abused?  Or, 
again,  that  agency  of  light,  the  mode  of  whose 
operation  is  still,  with  all  its  unvarying  beauty 
and  simplicity,  an  unsolved  problem  to  human 
science  —  is  it  employed  legitimately,  and  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  ends  for  which  it  was  con- 
trived, when  on  its  tremulous  ether,  or  its  lumi- 
nous waves,  it  is  constrained  to  carry  to  and  fro 
angry  looks,  lascivious  glances,  reflected  sights 
and  scenes  of  impurity  and  evil  ?  It  were 
blasphemy  to  suppose  that  the  Almighty  should 
send  down  angels  to  convey  hither  and  thither 
messages  of  impurity,  or  to  lend  their  potent 
aid  to  deeds  of  crime  ;  yet  are  not  "  the  winds 
God's  messengers  —  the  flaming  fire  his  minis- 
ters," as  truly  as  "  the  angels  that  do  His  com- 
mandments, hearkening  to  the  voice  of  His 
word  ?"  And  as  with  these,  so  with  all  the 
other  powers  and  agents  which  constitute  the 
material  system  around  us  ;  are  they  not  all  ob- 
viously designed  to  harmonise  with,  and  sub- 
serve, the  higher  moral  order  of  God's  world  ? 


Calrd. 


314:     THE   CHRISTIAN'S  HERITAGE. 

If,  therefore,  you  are  living  a  godless  and  sinful 
life,  you  are  out  of  harmony  with  the  world  in 
which  you  live.  You  exist  in  it  by  sufferance, 
not  by  right — an  intruder  on  its  soil,  a  misap- 
propriator  of  its  benefits,  a  usurper  and  per- 
verter  of  its  laws.  Nature  and  her  laws  and 
agencies  do  not  serve  you  willingly,  but  as  the 
captive  servants  of  a  gracious  master,  compelled 
to  do  the  bidding  of  his  enemy,  only  because 
"for  a  season"  they  have  been  "subjected  to 
the  bondage  of  corruption."  And  so  long  as 
you  continue  in  estrangement  from  God,  it  is  as 
if  His  sun  were  unwilling  to  shine  upon  you, 
and  His  air  to  inspire  you,  and  the  fruits  of  His 
earth  to  nourish  you,  and  that  earth  itself  to 
hold  you,  and  as  if  "  the  whole  creation,"  weary 
of  a  bondage  so  degrading,  were,  according  to 
the  magnificent  conception  of  the  apostle, 
"  groaning  and  travailing  in  pain." 

On  the  other  hand,  return  to  God,  let  your 
soul  be  brought  back  into  living  union  with  the 
Father  of  spirits  through  His  dear  Son,  and 
thenceforward  the  world  will  become  yours,  be- 
cause you  are  God's.  In  harmony  with  the 


THE    CHRISTIAN'S    HERITAGE.    315 

Great  Centre,  you  will  be  in  harmony  with  all 
things  in  His  universe.  Nature  will  serve  him 
who  serves  her  God ;  and  all  her  varied  powers 
and  agencies  will  rejoice  to  obey  the  behests 
and  minister  to  the  welfare  of  one  who  is  the 
loved  and  loving  child  of  their  great  Master  and 
Lord.  The  earth  will  be  fulfilling  its  proper 
function  in  yielding  you  bread,  and  the  heavens 
in  shedding  their  sweet  influences  on  your  path. 
For  you  the  morning  will  dawn  and  the  evening 
descend.  For  you  "  the  winds  will  blow,  earth 
rest,  heavens  move,  and  fountains  flow."  You 
will  be  able  to  claim  a  peculiar  property  in  the 
works  of  your  Father's  hand,  and  the  bounties 
of  your  Father's  providence.  You  will  have 
served  yourself  heir  to  Him  who  is  the  Univer- 
sal Proprietor,  and  become  "  heir  of  God,  and 
joint  heir  with  Christ."  And  so  "  the  world" 
and  the  fulness  thereof  will  become  "yours," 
because  "ye  are  Christ's,  and  Christ  is  God's." 

2.  Another  of  the  blessings  comprehended  in 
this  roll  of  the  Christian's  possessions  is  "  Life." 
What,  then,  let  us  ask,  is  the  import  of  the  de- 
claration, "  Life  is  yours  ?"  It  is  obvious  that 


316    THE    CHRISTIAN'S   HERITAGE. 

in  the  simplest  view  of  it,  considered  as  mere 
existence  or  duration  of  being,  "life"  cannot, 
any  more  than  the  former  blessing,  be  regarded 
as  the  peculiar  property  of  the  Christian.  For 
though  it  is  true  that  religion,  by  reason  of  the 
moral  habits  which  it  inculcates,  is  really  con- 
ducive to  health  and  longevity,  and  that,  in  ab- 
sence of  its  restraints,  vicious  excess  often  im- 
pairs the  health  and  shortens  life,  yet  this  is  by 
no  means  so  uniformly  its  result  as  to  warrant, 
in  the  literal  import  of  the  words,  the  assertion 
of  the  text.  It  is  not  always  the  holiest  men 
who  live  the  longest.  Oftentimes  "the  good 
die  first,  whilst  they  whose  hearts  are  dry  as 
summer's  dust  burn  to  the  socket."  There  is 
something  more  than  mere  sentimentality  in  the 
saying  not  seldom  heard  from  sorrowing  lips 
concerning  the  dead,  that  they  were  "  too  good 
for  this  world" — -"  they  grew  so  holy,  so  gentle, 
so  good,"  is  the  thought  implied — "they  breath- 
ed so  much  of  the  spirit  of  heaven  upon  earth, 
that,  long  ere  to  human  eye  their  course  was 
run,  the  Father  called  them  home."  And  per- 
haps there  are  few  of  us  who,  as  life  wears  on, 


THE    CHRISTIAN'S    HERITAGE.    317 

do  not  learn  to  cherish  among  our  deepest  and 
most  sacred  recollections  the  memory  of  some 
loved  and  sainted  one,  some  child,  or  brother,  or 
sister  departed,  whose  fair  young  face  shines 
out  to  us,  in  thoughtful  moments,  from  amidst 
the  dim  and  vanished  years,  as  that  of  one 
whom  God  hath  early  taken.  No !  we  repeat, 
not  literally  can  they  who  are  Christ's  under- 
stand the  promise,  "  Life  is  yours." 

But  there  is  a  sense  most  real  and  true  in 
which  they  may  apprehend  it.  For  if  the  good 
do  not  live  longer,  they  live  more  in  the  same 
space  of  time  than  other  men.  Life  is  to  be 
reckoned  not  only  extensively,  but  also  inten- 
sively ;  not  merely  by  the  number  of  its  days, 
but  also  by  the  amount  of  thought  and  energy 
which  we  infuse  into  them.  Existence  is  not  to 
be  measured  by  mere  duration.  An  oak  lives 
for  centuries ;  generation  after  generation  of 
mortals  the  meanwhile  passing  away ;  but  who 
would  exchange  for  the  life  of  a  plant,  though 
protracted  for  ages,  a  single  day  of  the  existence 
of  a  living,  conscious,  thinking  man  ?  The  brief- 
est life  of  rationality,  again,  is  worth  more,  has 


HERITAGE. 

more  of  real  life  in  it,  than  the  longest  of  a  mere 
animal.  And,  amongst  rational  beings,  that  life 
is  longest,  whether  brief  or  protracted  its  out- 
ward term,  into  which  the  largest  amount  of 
mind,  of  mental  and  moral  activity,  is  condensed. 
It  is  possible  for  the  longest  life  to  be  really 
briefer  than  the  shortest,  and  the  child  or  youth 
may  die  older,  with  more  of  life  crowded  into  his 
brief  existence,  than  he  whose  dull  and  stagnant 
being  drags  on  to  an  inglorious  old  age. 

"  We  live  in  deeds,  not  years ;  in  thoughts,  not  breaths ; 
In  feelings,  not  in  figures  on  a  dial. 
We  should  count  time  by  heart-throbs.     He  most  lives 
Who  thinks  most,  feels  the  noblest,  acts  the  best." 

But  if  it  be  so,  surely,  estimating  life  by  this 
principle,  it  is  only  the  Christian,  the  man  who 
lives  to  God,  who  can  really  be  said  to  live  at 
all.  For  in  him  alone  the  whole  man  lives — 
in  him  alone  all  the  energies  of  man's  being, 
physical,  intellectual,  moral,  are  called  into  full- 
est, noblest  activity.  In  sleep  we  possess  mere 
existence  as  truly  as  in  waking,  but  in  so  far  as 
our  nobler  conscious  being  is  concerned,  sleep 
steals  away  a  great  part  of  our  earthly  life ;  and 


THE   CHRISTIAN'S   HERITAGE.     319 

if,  instead  of  a  part,  a  man  were  compelled  to 
spend  the  whole  of  life  in  sleep,  then  as  a  con- 
scious, reflective,  active  being,  life  would  be 
utterly  lost  to  him.  But  there  are  men  not  a 
few  in  whose  busy  outward  life,  though  the 
.ntellect  may  wake,  the  spirit  slumbers,  and 
who,  amidst  all  the  surface  vivacity  of  a  world- 
ly and  selfish  existence,  know  as  little  of  truest, 
noblest  life,  as  if  their  years  were  spent  in  tor- 
pid unconsciousness.  The  man  who  merely  vege- 
tates through  existence,  who  rises  day  by  day 
only  to  eat  and  drink  and  pursue  the  same  unre- 
flective  round  of  business  and  pleasure,  without 
one  lofty  thought  or  pure  spiritual  emotion, 
never  for  one  moment  lifting  his  soul  to  com- 
mune with  God,  and  the  vast  world  of  invisible 
realities  around  him, — surely,  to  such  an  one, 
life,  in  its  real  essence,  its  true  significance,  is 
lost.  And  comparing  such  a  life  with  that  of 
the  man  in  whom  the  pulse  of  being  beats  quick 
— the  reflective,  earnest,  high-souled  man,  alive 
to  the  noblest  end  of  existence,  governed  by 
high  principles  and  holy  motives,  crowding  his 
days  with  deeds,  and  leaving  scarce  one  hour  of 


320    THE    CHRISTIAN'S    HERITAGE. 

waking  existence  that  is  not  instinct  with  en- 
ergy, throbbing  with  the  life's-blood  of  the  spirit 
— comparing  the  former  sort  of  life  with  this, 
can  we  hesitate  to  pronounce  that  that  is  a  mere 
blank,  a  life  that  is  no  life,  a  death  in  life,  whilst 
this  alone  deserves  the  name  ?  The  man  of  pro- 
perty, who  has  an  undiscovered  gold  mine  on 
his  estate,  is  no  richer  for  his  latent  wealth,  and 
cannot  be  said  really  to  possess  it.  And  so, 
whatever  other  men  contrive  to  extract  out  of 
life — as  comfort,  ease,  honor,  knowledge,  power 
— they  are,  after  all,  possessors  only  of  its  sur- 
face wealth ;  the  Christian  alone,  the  man  who 
has  discovered  and  appropriated  its  hidden  trea- 
sure of  holy  thought,  feeling,  energy,  who  has 
pierced  down  through  life's  common  strata,  and 
reached  the  divine  element  in  it — he  alone  can 
be  said  to  be  its  true  possessor.  Confine  a  bird 
for  life  to  a  cage,  and  could  it  be  said  to  be  in 
reality  possessor  of  the  unexercised,  unenjoyed 
power  to  soar  and  sweep  the  heavens  ?  But 
within  every  human  breast  there  are  capabilities 
of  heaven,  folded  wings  of  thought,  aspiration, 
energy,  which  need  only  the  liberating  touch  of 


THE    CHRISTIAN'S   HERITAGE.    321 

the  Spirit  of  God  to  call  forth  their  hidden 
power,  and  bear  the  soul  upward  to  the  true  re- 
gion of  its  life.  The  true  ideal  of  man's  life 
is  that  of  a  heavenly  life,  a  "  life  hid  with  Christ 
in  God," — the  life  of  one  whose  "  conversation 
is  in  heaven,"  who.  is  "  risen  with  Christ,  and 
made  to  dwell  with  Him  in  heavenly  places," 
and  who,  even  amidst  the  common  duties  of  the 
world,  derives  his  motives  and  principles  from 
a  nobler  sphere  of  being.  But  the  multitudes 
who  never,  in  thought,  desire,  affection,  emerge 
beyond  the  region  of  earthly  things — such  men 
know  not  what  life  is,  have  never  discovered 
what,  in  its  high  and  glorious  reality,  a  human 
existence  may  become.  To  that  man  only  who 
can  say  with  the  apostle,  "  To  me  to  live  is 
Christ,"  can  we  make  answer  in  the  full  signifi- 
cance of  the  words,  Then  "  life  is  yours." 

3.  And  if  so,  then  finally  may  we  add  with 
the  inspired  writer  in  the  textr  "  Death,"  too, 
"  is  yours."  Outwardly,  indeed,  death  bears  the 
same  aspect  to  all.  He  comes  in  no  gentler 
form,  with  no  more  obsequious  mien,  to  those 
who  are  Christ's,  than  to  those  who  are  none  of 

14* 


322      THE     C  H  K  I  S  T  I  A  N  '  S     II  E  K  I  T  A  G  E  . 

His.  But  yet,  whilst  of  all  other  men  it  may 
be  said  that  they  are  death's,  of  the  believer 
alone  can  it  be  averred  that  death  is  his.  Sin, 
unrepented  and  unforgiven,  renders  a  man,  in  a 
sense,  the  rightful  property  of  death,  so  that 
when  the  hour  of  dissolution  arrives,  it  is  but 
the  lawful  proprietor  coming  to  claim  his  own. 
In  human  society,  a  man  forfeits  by  the  commis- 
sion of  a  crime  his  right  to  liberty.  His  per- 
son, by  right,  if  not  in  fact,  is  the  property  of 
the  law ;  and  wherever  he  can  be  found,  the 
emissary  of  justice  may  lay  hold  of  the  offender, 
and  claim  him  as  his  own.  The  crime  may  be 
concealed,  or  the  criminal  may  elude  for  a  while 
the  hands  of  justice ;  but,  go  where  he  may,  he 
has  no  right  to  liberty  or  life — he  is  at  the  mercy 
of  the  offended  law,  wherever  he  can  be  de- 
tected. And  when  at  last,  it  may  be,  in  some 
unwary  moment,  and  after  long-continued  im- 
punity has  lulled  him  into  forgetfulness  of  the 
past,  he  feels  a  stern  .hand  laid  upon  his  shoul- 
der, and  the  terrible  words,  "  You  are  my  pris- 
oner," fall  upon  his  ear — what  sense  of  weak- 
ness and  helplessness  sinks  heavily  on  his 


THE   OHBISTIAN'S    HERITAGE.    323 

spirit !  llis  guilty  freedom  is  at  an  end.  His 
game  is  up.  A  mighty  power  of  human  law  and 
social  order  environs  him.  Resistance  he  knows 
to  be  unavailing ;  and  though  shrinking  in  dis- 
may from  the  fate  that  awaits  him,  go  he  must 
with  the  officer  of  justice  to  meet  it. 

Now,  similar  to  this  is  the  condition  of  the 
irreligious  and  impenitent  man  in  relation  to  that 
law  which  he  has  dishonored,  and  that  dread 
penalty  which  he  has  incurred.  Unrepented  sin 
is  Death's  pledge.  However  long  Death  may 
delay,  he  will  come — soon  at  the  latest — to  put 
in  force  the  right  he  has  established  over  the 
person  of  the  sinner,  and  to  claim  him  as  his 
own.  Every  day  that  dawns,  every  passing 
hour,  every  throb  of  the  pulse  is  bringing  him 
nearer.  Every  sickness,  every  sorrow,  every 
sign  of  nature's  decay,  each  secret  pang  of  con- 
science, or  momentary  foreboding,  that  visits  the 
sinner's  soul,  is  as  the  shadow  of  the  emissary 
of  heaven's  justice  falling  athwart  his  victim's 
onward  path.  And  then,  when  at  last  he  comes, 
often  most  silently  and  suddenly, — cold,  stern, 
rigid,  inexorable,  God's  awful  messenger,  there 


is  that  within  the  guilty  breast  which  at  once 
recognises  his  identity,  and  makes  the  man  feel 
that  resistance  or  escape  is  impossible.  Then 
indeed  is  the  hour  and  power  of  death,  then  the 
season  of  his  long-delayed  triumph,  and  of  the 
appropriation  of  his  rightful  property.  A  power, 
mightier  than  the  combined  force  of  human  law 
and  social  order  and  public  opinion,  lays  hold  of 
the  guilty  soul,  prevents  its  escape,  hurries  it 
resistlessly  away  to  the  bar  of  its  Judge.  Oh, 
who  can  tell  what  dreary  sense  of  weakness 
visits  the  heart  in  that  awful  moment — what 
mysterious  consciousness  of  being  borne  help- 
lessly onward  from  the  old,  friendly,  familiar 
world,  into  the  strange  portentous  dark  of  Eter- 
nity !  Who  can  enter  into  the  feeling  of  amazed, 
awestruck  impotence  and  abandonment  with 
which  the  soul  realises  the  thought :  "  This  is 
death  at  last,  and  ah  me,  I  am  his !" 

On  the  other  hand,  if  you  are  Christ's,  then 
death  is  yours.  His  power  over  you  is  gone. 
He  has  no  right  to  detain  you  in  his  posses- 
sion. In  his  hands  you  shall  no  more  be  the 
weak,  but  the  strong  ;  for  your  condition  will  be 


THE  CHRISTIAN'S  HERITAGE.     325 

analogous  to  that,  not  of  the  criminal,  but  of  the 
innocent,  unjustly  apprehended  man,  in  the  hands 
of  the  law.  Over  the  innocent  man  the  law  has 
no  power.  All  its  authority,  its  sanctions,  its 
penalties,  are  on  his  side.  Its  retributive  inflic- 
tions cannot  touch  him  ;  they  may  not  injure  one 
hair  of  his  head.  He  is  no  longer  theirs,  but 
they  are  his.  If  wrongfully  accused  and  im- 
prisoned, he  can  demand  as  a  right  all  the  aids 
and  appliances  of  justice  to  free  his  character 
from  stain  and  his  person  from  unrighteous  re- 
straint. Or  if  he  himself  be  incapacitated  from 
action,  his  friends,  if  they  can  establish  his  in- 
nocence, may  demand  his  person  at  the  hands  of 
the  law — may  insist  on  his  instant  liberation. 
And  so,  if  "  ye  are  Christ's,"  if  reconciled  to 
God  through  His  dear  Son,  the  stain  of  guilt  no 
longer  rests  upon  you ;  then  has  death  no 
longer  any  claim  to  your  person,  any  right  to 
retain  you  in  his  hold.  It  may  be  still  your 
mysterious  fate  to  submit  for  a  little  while  to 
the  universal  penalty,  to  pass  into  the  prison- 
house  of  the  destroyer ;  but  He  to  whom,  body 
and  soul,  you  truly  belong,  will  soon  claim  you 


326     THE    CHRISTIAN'S    HERITAGE. 

as  one  who,  like  Himself,  cannot  be  "  holden  of 
death/'  and  who  must,  at  His  summons,  be  set 
free.  Not  one  soul  dear  to  Christ  will  He  per- 
mit to  remain  as  death's  prisoner,  or  to  receive 
any  injury  at  death's  hands.  Nay,  the  very 
dust  of  Christ's  saints  is  dear  to  Him.  He  guards 
their  very  graves  with  a  deeper  and.  tenderer 
care  than  that  wherewith  earthly  affection 
watches  over  the  spot  where  a  loved  one  rests. 
And  as  the  slightest  memorial  of  one  who  has 
been  taken  from  us  is  often  prized  and  kept  with 
fondest  interest,  so  even  the  frail  vesture  with 
which  the  soul  of  one  of  Christ's  redeemed  was 
once  clothed,  is  precious  to  His  heart,  and  He 
will  rescue  it  at  last  from  the  dust  where  it  lies 
soiled  and  dishonored.  "  Neither  death  nor  life, 
nor  principalities  nor  powers,  nor  things  present 
nor  things  to  come" — no  created  power,  no  lapse 
of  time,  no  material  change  or  revolution — can 
remove  you  from  the  sight,  or  separate  you  from 
the  omnipotent  love  of  Jesus.  At  His  omnific 
word,  death  and  the  grave  shall  one  day  yield 
up  their  unlawful  captives  ;  and  then,  when,  the 
grave  has  heard  the  voice  of  the  Son  of  God, 


THE     C  II  It  I  S  T  I  A  N  '  S    HERITAGE.      327 

and  death,  His  servant  and  yours,  has  delivered 
up,  unscathed,  unharmed — yea,  more  glorious 
and  beautiful  than  when  they  fell  for  a  while 
into  his  charge,  the  bodies  of  Christ's  redeemed, 
when  "  this  corruptible  shall  put  on  incorruption, 
and  this  mortal  shall  put  on  immortality,"  then 
shall  the  believer  discover  the  full  and  blessed 
import  of  the  words,  "  Death  is  yours." 

Be  this,  then,  let  me  say  in  conclusion,  your 
comfort  and  strength  amidst  the  passing  hours 
of  life,  and  when  anticipating  its  inevitable  close. 
If  ye  are  Christ's  in  earnest  heartfelt  self-devo- 
tion, in  the  entire  surrender  of  yourselves  to 
Him  who  hath  redeemed  you  by  His  precious 
blood,  then  indeed  "  death  is  yours."  It  may 
not  be  that,  when  he  draws  near  to  you,  Death 
shall  be  welcomed  with  rapture,  or  even  re- 
garded without  shrinking  and  dread.  At  the 
best,  his  is  never  a  sweet  face,  nor  is  it  a  sound 
to  which  mortal  ear  can  listen  calmly  when  his 
step  is  heard  on  the  threshold,  or  his  knock 
strikes  the  door.  But  if  you  are  Christ's,  there 
is  that  in  your  condition  which  may  well  miti- 
gate the  fear,  as  it  will  ultimately  triumph  over 


328     THE    CHEISTIAN'S    HERITAGE. 

the  power  of  death.  Death  comes  at  Christ's 
command  to  call  the  believer  to  Himself;  and 
grim  and  ghastly  though  be  the  look  of  the  mes- 
senger, surely  that  may  well  be  forgotten  in  the 
sweetness  of  the  message  he  brings.  Death  comes 
to  set  the  spirit  free ;  and  rude  though  be  the 
hand  that  knocks  off  the  fetters,  and  painful 
though  be  the  process  of  liberation,  what  need 
the  prisoner  care  for  that,  when  it  is  to  freedom, 
life,  home,  he  is  about  to  be  emancipated  ?  Death 
strikes  the  hour  of  the  soul's  everlasting  espou- 
sals, and  though  the  sound  may  be  a  harsh  one, 
what  matters  that  ?  To  common  ear  it  may  seem 
a  death-knell,  to  the  ear  of  faith  it  is  a  bridal 
peal.  "Now,"  may  the  fainting  passing  soul  re- 
flect, "now  my  Lord  is  coming,  I  go  to  meet 
Him — to  be  with  Jesus — to  dwell  with  Him  in 
everlasting  light  and  love — to  be  severed  from 
Him  no  more  for  ever :  0  Death,  lead  thou  me 
on !"  Or,  if  frail  nature  should  faint  and  fail  in 
that  awful  hour,  surely  this  may  be  its  strong 
consolation,  the  thought  that  even  in  the  article 
of  dissolution,  He  to  whom  the  soul  belongs  is 
near  and  close  beside  it,  to  sustain  the  fortitude 


THE    CHRISTIAN'S    HERITAGE.     329 

of  His  servant,  and  shield  him  in  the  last  alarms. 
"  The  night  falls  dark  upon  my  spirit;  I  tremble 
to  go  forth  into  that  awful  mystery  and  gloom : 
help,  Lord,  for  my  spirit  faileth," — is  this  the 
cry  of  its  passing  anguish  ?  "  Fear  not"  will  be 
the  sweet  response  that  falls  upon  the  inner  ear 
— "  Fear  not,  I  am  with  thee  ;  the  night  is  far 
spent,  the  day  is  at  hand ;  a  little  moment,  and 
the  shadows  shall  flee  away  for  ever!"  "0 
Death  !"  may  not  then  the  dying  saint,  rising  in- 
to the  magnanimity  of  his  glorious  faith,  ex- 
claim— "  0  Death,  I  fear  thee  not :  I  am  not 
thine,  but  thou  art  mine !  Thanks  be  to  God 
that  giveth  me  the  victory  through  Jesus  Christ 
my  Lord !" 


Clje  ^im^licttji  of  Christian:  Ritual. 

"  Then  verily  the  first  covenant  had  also  ordinances  of  divine 
service."  —  HEB.  ix.  1. 


v  n         THE  langua£e  of  sign  or  symbol 

.  A.J  .  , 

enters  very  largely  into  all  the 
affairs  of  life.  It  is  not  by  articulate  speech 
alone  that  the  inner  experiences  of  the  mind  are 
expressed  or  communicated  to  others  ;  it  is  not 
in  words  only  that  we  garner  up  for  our  own  or 
other's  use  the  fleeting  phenomena  of  thought 
and  feeling  ;  there  is  a  silent  language  of  look 
and  tone  and  gesture,  which,  as  it  is  the  earliest, 
is  also  the  most  vivid  and  impressive,  medium 
of  mind.  The  human  spirit  craves  and  finds 
embodiment  for  its  impalpable,  evanescent  ideas 
and  emotions,  not  merely  in  sounds  that  die 
away  upon  the  ear,  but  in  acts  and  observances 
that  arrest  the  eye,  and  stamp  themselves  upon 
the  memory,  or  in  shapes  and  forms  and  sym- 
bols that  possess  a  material  and  palpable  con- 


CHRISTIAN     RITUAL.  331 

tinuity.  Nor,  with  all  the  advantages  which, 
by  reason  of  its  greater  compass  and  flexibility, 
spoken  language  possesses  as  an  instrument  for 
the  communication  of  thought,  can  it  be  ques- 
tioned that  in  some  respects  it  is  inferior  in  force 
and  intelligibleness  to  the  unuttered  language  of 
symbol  or  sign. 

The  superiority  of  sign  or  symbol  as  a  vehicle 
of  thought  is  in  some  sort  implied  in  the  very 
fact  that  it  is  the  language  of  nature,  the  first 
which  man  learns,  or  rather  which,  with  instinc- 
tive and  universal  intelligence,  he  employs. 
Long  ere  the  infant  can  make  use  of  conven- 
tional speech,  it  receives  and  reciprocates  intelli- 
gence. It  discerns  the  intimations  of  thought 
and  feeling  in  the  mother's  face;  and  by  the 
responsive  smile  or  tear — by  the  bright  or  be- 
clouded face — by  the  clinging  embrace  or  the 
cry  of  alarm — by  the  restless,  ever-varying  play 
of  expression,  motion,  gesticulation — it  indicates 
the  possession  of  a  most  copious,  though  in- 
artificial exponent  of  mind.  Betwixt  the  sign 
and  the  thing  signified  there  is,  in  this  case,  a 
mysterious  connection,  deeply  wrought  into  the 


332  THE     SIMPLICITY     OF 

very  elements  of  our  being,  so  that  nowhere  can 
the  man  be  found  to  whom  the  gleaming  coun- 
tenance is  not  significant  of  joy  and  the  trem- 
bling lip  and  tearful  eye  of  grief,  or  to  whom  the 
manifold  and  subtle  varieties  of  expression  that 
flit  over  the  human  countenance  and  form  are 
devoid  of  meaning.  On  the  other  hand,  with 
but  rare  exceptions,  the  connection  between 
words  and  the  objects  they  represent  is  purely 
arbitrary,  insomuch  that  it  is  only  by  conven- 
tional usage  and  artificial  education  that  the  in- 
struction conveyed  by  words  becomes  intelligible 
to  the  auditor. 

There  is  something,  again,  in  a  visible  and 
tangible  sign,  or  in  a  significant  or  symbolic  act, 
which,  by  its  very  nature,  appeals  more  impres- 
sively to  the  mind  than  mere  vocables  that 
vibrate  for  a  moment  on  the  organ  of  hearing 
and  then  pass  away.  Embody  thought  in  a 
material  representation  or  memorial,  and  it  stands 
before  you  with  a  distinct  and  palpable  con- 
tinuity ;  it  can  become  the  object  of  prolonged 
contemplation ;  it  is  permanently  embalmed  to 
the  senses.  Hence,  when  any  feeling  or  senti- 


CHRISTIAN     KIT  UAL. 

inent — such,  for  instance,  as  that  of  regret  or 
veneration  for  the  dead — takes  strong  hold  of 
the  mind,  there  is  a  disinclination  to  rest  satis- 
fied with  a  mere  verbal  expression,  or  even 
written  record,  of  the  greatness  we  honor — a 
tendency  to  project  and  stereotype  the  inward 
feeling  in  some  visible  and  enduring  material 
form — to  set  up  some  palpable  outward  memorial 
in  which  thought  and  affection  may  see  them- 
selves reflected.  Hence,  too,  the  innumerable 
cases  in  which  we  seek,  by  forms  and  observ- 
ances, to  give  external  ratification  and  signifi- 
cance to  the  events  and  transactions  of  life. 
The  coronation  of  the  monarch,  and  the  cere- 
monials generally  attendant  on  investure  in  office 
or  dignity,  the  forms  and  solemnities  that  ac- 
company the  passing  of  laws,  the  administration 
of  justice,  the  sale  and  acquisition  of  lands,  the 
badges  of  knighthood  and  other  social  honors, 
the  rites  and  festivities  of  marriage,  the  gloomy 
attire  and  solemn  pomp  of  the  burial  of  the  dead 
— these  are  some  of  the  many  instances  in  which 
actions  and  events  are  deemed  incomplete  till 
the  mind  has  satisfied  its  craving  to  externalise 


334  THE     SIMPLICITY     OF 

its  thoughts  and  feelings  in  some  palpable  mate- 
rial type  or  symbol. 

Moreover,  it  deserves  to  be  considered  that 
the  language  of  symbol  lies  nearer  to  thought 
than  that  of  verbal  expression.  Words  are  in 
great  part  but  the  representatives  of  symbols. 
It  is  only  by  signs  and  analogies  drawn  from 
the  material  world  that  the  invisible  experiences 
of  our  minds  can  be  communicated  to  others. 
As  no  man  can  look  into  another's  mind  and 
have  direct  cognisance  of  another's  thoughts,  we 
can  only  convey  to  others  what  is  passing  in 
our  own  minds,  by  selecting  and  pointing  out 
some  object  or  phenomenon  of  the  outward 
world  that  bears  an  analogy  to  the  thought  or 
feeling  within  our  breasts.  An  arbitrary  sound 
or  word  or  name  could  never  convey  to  another 
the  thought  or  conception,  the  feeling  or  fancy, 
of  which  I  am  conscious.  But  God  has  con- 
structed this  wondrous  material  world  of  beauty 
and  order  in  which  we  dwell,  replete  with  re- 
semblances, analogies,  types  of  the  inner  world 
of  thought.  And  so,  in  the  effort  to  make 
others  comprehend  our  mental  experiences,  we 


CHRISTIAN     RITUAL.  335 

have  only  to  turn  at  any  moment  to  nature  in 
order  to  find  in  some  one  of  her  many  aspects, 
processes,  movements,  the  desired  type  or  rep- 
resentation of  our  inner  mental  state.  All  na- 
ture is  to  the  soul  a  vocabulary  of  symbols,  a 
ready-prepared  repository  of  signs  by  which  it 
may  tell  forth  its  inward  consciousness  to 
others.  And  so  all  language  descriptive  of 
mental  states  and  experiences  is  universally  ac- 
knowledged to  be,  in  its  origin,  metaphorical, 
and  to  derive  its  force  and  expressiveness  from 
the  fact  that  it  summons  up  to  the  mind  the 
phenomena  of  the  visible  world  as  symbols  of 
thought.  And  if  further  proof  of  the  utility 
and  importance  of  symbol  were  wanting,  it 
might  be  found  in  the  fact  that  all  Nature  is 
but  one  grand  symbol  by  which  God  shadows 
forth  His  own  invisible  Being  and  character, — 
and  that  the  chief  glory  of  Nature  lies  not  in 
her  vastness  or  her  order — in  the  beauty  and 
grandeur  of  her  forms,  or  the  exquisite  harmony 
of  her  adaptations — but  in  this,  that  rock  and 
stream  and  star  and  sea,  the  gleam  of  her  sun- 
shine and  the  gloom  and  mystery  of  her  night, 


THE     SIMPLICITY     OF 

the  voice  of  her  waters  and  the  silent  majesty 
of  her  hills — all  her  mute  and  material  and  all 
her  animate  creatures  alike,  are  but  types  and 
symbols  of  the  invisible  and  eternal  glory  of 
Him  concerning  whom  "  day  unto  day  uttereth 
speech,  and  night  unto  night  teacheth  knowl- 
edge." 

The  principle  on  which  symbolic  language 
depends  being  thus  deeply  seated  in  man's 
nature,  it  might  be  anticipated  that  its  influence 
would  be  apparent  in  that  religion  which  is  so 
marvellously  adapted  to  his  sympathies  and 
wants.  Entering  deeply  into  nature  and  life, 
associated  with  our  tenderest  and  holiest  earthly 
relationships,  the  vehicle  of  our  noblest  senti- 
ments of  human  affection,  gratitude,  veneration, 
it  is  natural  to  conclude  that  the  voiceless  lan- 
guage of  sign  and  symbol  will  play  no  unimpor- 
tant part  in  our  religious  life.  But  when,  with 
these  views,  we  turn  to  that  religious  economy 
under  which  we  live,  by  nothing  are  we  so 
much  struck  as  by  the  simplicity  of  its  external 
worship — the  scantiness,  unobtrusiveness,  and 
seeming  poverty  of  its  ritual  observances.  And 


CHRISTIAN     KITUAL.  337 

this  absence  of  symbol  in  the  Christian  worship 
becomes  all  the  more  singular  when  contrasted 
with  the  sensuous  beauty  and  splendor  of  the 
heathen  religions  amidst  which  Christianity  was 
developed,  and  with  the  imposing  ceremonial, 
the  elaborate  symbolism,  of  that  earlier  dispen- 
sation from  which  it  took  its  rise.  Not  unnat- 
ural would  it  have  been  for  a  heathen  or  a  Jew- 
ish mind  to  be  repelled  by  the  apparent  baldness 
and  tanieness  of  the  Christian  ritual ;  not 
strange,  if,  seated  at  the  communion  table 
where  a  few  Christian  friends  had  met  with  the 
quiet  informality  of  a  common  meal  to  partake 
of  the  elements  of  that  simplest  of  festivals,  the 
mind  of  the  primitive  convert  had  sometimes 
recurred  with  a  feeling  of  wistfulness  to  the 
days  when,  in  temples  vast  and  spacious,  and 
resplendent  with  the  rarest  efforts  of  the  paint- 
er's and  sculptor's  art,  he  had  mingled  with  the 
throng  of  awestruck  worshippers,  gazed  upon 
the  gorgeous  procession  of  white-robed  priests 
or  virgins,  or  felt  his  soul  thrilled  with  emotion 
when,  amidst  lamps  and  incense  and  garlands 
and  music,  the  bleeding  victim  yielded  up  its 

Caird. 


338  THE     SIMPLICITY     OF 

life  upon  the  altar.  A  religion  without  priest, 
without  altar,  without  temple — whose  places  of 
assembly  were  the  rude  upper-chamber,  the 
mountain-side,  or  the  sea-shore — whose  most 
sacred  mysteries  involved  no  act  more  imposing 
than  the  breaking  of  bread  or  the  washing  of 
the  person  with  water — must  have  appeared 
poor  and  unimposing  to  many  a  superficial  ob- 
server who  could  recall  the  outward  magnifi- 
cence, the  splendid  vestments,  the  golden  lamps, 
the  ever-burning  altar,  the  pealing  multitudinous 
music,  the  awestruck  prostrations,  the  mysteri- 
ous shrine — the  whole  sumptuous  symbolism  of 
that  ritual  which  had  passed  away.  But  in  all 
such  regrets  the  observer  w^ould  have  erred. 
The  outward  impressiveness  and  material  splen- 
dor of  the  ancient  religion,  "  the  ordinances  of 
divine  service  and  worldly  sanctuary"  of  the 
"first  covenant,"  were  in  reality  but  indi- 
cations of  imperfection  and  weakness.  The 
ceremonial  plainness,  the  literal,  unsymbolic 
character  of  the  new  economy,  is  the  exponent 
of  its  true  dignity  and  glory.  And  just  as  we 
know  that  the  student  of  history  in  our  own 


CHRISTIAN     RITUAL.  339 

day  would  greatly  err,  who,  captivated  by  the 
barbaric  splendor  of  feudal  times — by  the  show 
and  spectacle,  the  jousts  and  tournaments  and 
warlike  pageants — by  the  gallantry  and  gaiety 
and  glitter  of  an  age  long  past,  should  fail  to 
perceive  that  all  these  were  but  the  signs  of  an 
imperfect  and  undeveloped  civilisation — so  would 
it  be  in  the  case  before  us.  As  the  prosaic 
simplicity  and  unimposing  quietness  of  our 
modern  life  is  an  indication  of  social  progress 
and  not  of  retrogression,  so  the  comparative 
tameness  and  unimpressiveness  of  the  Christian 
ritual  is  only  a  proof  that  the  period  of  religious 
immaturity,  the  spiritual  age  of  chivalry,  so  to 
speak,  has  passed  away,  and  that  we  have 
reached  a  higher  and  more  developed  epoch  of 
man's  spiritual  history.  Accordingly,  it  is  this 
thought  which  I  shall  now  endeavor  a  little  more 
fully  to  illustrate — suggesting  to  you  various 
considerations  in  support  of  the  doctrine  that 
the  simplicity  of  the  Christian  ritual  is  the  ex- 
ponent of  an  advanced,  and  not  of  a  retrograde, 
condition  of  the  Church. 


340  THE     SIMPLICITY     OF 

I.  The  simplicity  of  worship  in  the  Christian 
Church  is  a  sign  of  spiritual  advancement,  inas- 
much as  it  arises,  in  some  measure,  from  the 
fact,  that  the  gospel  rites  are  commemorative, 
ivhilst  those  of  the  former  dispensation  ivere  anti- 
cipative. 

To  depict  the  unknown,  a  much  more  elabo- 
rate representation  is  needed  than  merely  to  re- 
call the  known.  To  reproduce  in  the  mind  the 
idea  of  a  former  friend,  or  to  revive  the  thought 
of  an  event  with  which  we  are  conversant,  is 
obviously  a  simpler  and  easier  process  than  to 
portray  the  aspect  and  character  of  a  stranger, 
or  to  convey  to  us  an  adequate  conception  of 
scenes  and  incidents  with  which  we  are  alto- 
gether unacquainted.  If  I  wish  to  give  you  a 
correct  notion  of  the  person  and  manner  of  one 
whom  you  have  never  seen,  I  must  submit  to 
you,  not  a  mere  outline,  or  hint,  or  imperfect 
sketch,  but  a  carefully-drawn  portrait,  or  a  full, 
minute,  detailed  account  of  him.  But  if  I  only 
desire  to  revive  in  your  imagination  the  idea  of 
some  old  and  once  familiar  friend,  no  such  ela- 
borate process  is  needed  :  all  that  is  required  is 


CHRISTIAN     RITUAL.  341 

merely  hints  for  thought,  incentives  to  the 
mind's  own  power  of  reminiscence.  The  rudest 
outline — nay,  a  name,  a  word,  some  trifling  ob- 
ject associated  with  him,  is  in  this  case  enough ; 
the  mind  itself  does  all  the  rest.  And  the  eye 
no  sooner  rests  upon  the  suggestive  memorial — 
the  locket,  the  book,  the  slight  article  of  attire — 
than  instantly  there  rises  up  before  you  the  old 
familiar  form,  the  look,  the  smile,  the  gait,  the 
tones  of  the  voice,  the  thousand  treasured  de- 
tails that  constitute  our  conception  of  the  man. 
Now,  analogous  to  this  is  the  distinction  be- 
tween the  ritual  of  Judaism  and  that  of  Chris- 
tianity. The  former  partakes  in  some  measure 
of  the  character  of  an  elaborate  portrait  or  de- 
lineation intended  for  strangers,  the  latter  of 
mere  hints  and  suggestions  for  friends.  To  the 
Hebrew  in  ancient  times  Christ  was  a  Being  of 
whose  person  and  character  and  work  he  had 
but  the  most  vague  and  undefined  conceptions ; 
to  the  Christian  worshipper  He  is  no  shadowy 
dream  of  the  future,  no  vague  and  visionary  per- 
sonage of  a  distant  age,  but  the  dearest,  most 
intimate,  best  beloved  of  friends,  whose  beauti- 


342  THE     SIMPLICITY     OF 

ful  life  stands  forth  before  the  mind  with  all  the 
distinctness  of  history — whose  glorious  person 
and  mission  is  the  treasured  and  familiar  con- 
templation of  his  secret  thoughts.  The  former, 
accordingly,  needed  all  the  elaborate  formality 
of  type  and  ceremony,  of  temple  and  altar  and 
sacrifice — of  symbolic  persons  and  objects  and 
actions,  to  help  out  his  idea  of  the  Messiah  and 
of  His  mighty  mission.  But  to  enable  the  lat- 
ter to  recall  his  Lord,  no  more  is  required  than 
a  few  drops  of  water,  a  bit  of  broken  bread,  or  a 
cup  of  wine.  Around  these  simplest  outward 
memorials,  a  host  of  thoughts,  reflections,  re- 
membrances, are  ready  to  gather.  Deity  Incar- 
nate, Infinite  Self-sacrifice,  Reconciliation  with 
God,  Pardon,  Purity,  Peace,  Eternal  Life 
through  the  blood  of  Jesus,  union  with  Christ, 
and  in  Him  with  all  good  and  holy  beings, — 
these  are  some  of  the  great  Christian  ideas  al- 
ready lodged  in  each  devout  worshipper's  mind, 
and  which  awake  at  the  suggestive  touch  of  the 
sacramental  symbols  to  invest  them  with  a  value 
altogether  incommensurate  with  their  outward 
worth.  The  very  simplicity  of  these  material 


CHRISTIAN     RITUAL.  343 

symbols  implies  that  the  senses  have  less  and 
the  mind  far  more  to  do  in^the  process  of  spirit- 
ual conception  than  in  a  system  of  more  impos- 
ing and  obtrusive  materialism.  In  the  latter 
case  the  mind,  relying  on  the  aid  of  forms  and 
facts,  could  scarce  proceed  a  step  without  them ; 
in  the  former,  facts  but  touch  the  spring,  give 
the  impulse  to  thought,  and  the  full  mind  in- 
stantly loses  hold  of  them,  and  passes  on  into 
the  realm  of  spiritual  reflection,  independent  of 
their  aid.  It  is  here  in  some  respects  as  in  the 
study  of  nature  by  the  scientific  observer.  The 
mind  that  is  already  informed  by  the  knowledge 
of  great  principles  and  laws,  needs  no  grand  and 
imposing  phenomena,  no  illustration  on  a  large 
scale,  to  suggest  to  it  their  presence  and  opera- 
tion. The  fall  of  a  stone  is  as  significant  of  gra- 
vitation as  the  revolution  of  a  planet ;  the  print 
of  a  foot  deciphered  on  a  rock  is  enough  to  re- 
vive to  the  imagination  an  ancient  and  extinct 
world ;  and  the  form  and  structure  of  a  wayside 
weed,  or  the  colors  that  glisten  in  the  dewdrop 
that  trembles  on  its  leaf,  are  replete  with  indi- 
cations of  grand  laws  of  color  and  symmetry 


344  THE     SIMPLICITY     OF 

that  pervade  the  universe.  In  like  manner,  it 
is  the  very  glory  of  the  Christian  economy  that 
its  symbolic  forms  are  so  slight  and  inelaborate ; 
for  this  very  fact  indicates  that  they  are  pre- 
pared for  minds  to  which  their  use  lies  only  in 
their  suggestiveness  —  minds  already  imbued 
with  spiritual  principles  and  laws,  of  which 
the  simplest  outer  forms  serve  as  illustrations 
and  remembrancers  equally  with  the  most  im- 
posing. 

II.  The  simple  and  unimposing  character  of 
the  Christian  ritual  is  an  indication  of  spiritual 
advancement  again,  inasmuch  as  it  arises  from 
the  fact,  that  whilst  the  rights  of  Judaism  were 
mainly  disciplinary,  those  of  Christianity  are  spon- 
taneous and  expressive.  In  the  old  dispensation, 
ritual  observances  constituted  an  elaborate  mech- 
anism for  the  awakening  of  religious  thought 
and  feeling ;  in  the  new  economy,  they  are  the 
actual  and  voluntary  manifestation  of  religious 
thought  and  feeling  already  existing.  They 
were  mere  machinery  in  the  former  case ;  in  the 
latter  they  are  instinct  with  spirit  and  life  :  and 


CHRISTIAN     RITUAL.  345 

therefore  the  very  elaborateness  of  the  ancient 
ritual  is  the  exponent  of  its  inferiority ;  the  un- 
obtrusive simplicity  of  the  modern,  the  sign  of 
its  true  glory. 

For  it  is  obvious  that  the  most  elaborate 
achievements  of  art  ever  fall  short  in  value  and 
dignity  of  the  simplest  manifestations  of  life.  It 
is  possible,  indeed,  for  artificial  training  in  its  ap- 
parent results  greatly  to  surpass  natural  gifts. 
Acquired  accomplishments  may  sometimes  seem 
to  a  superficial  eye  to  excel  original  powers — the 
performances  of  a  mere  educational  drill  or  dis- 
cipline in  their  imposing  exactness  and  elabor- 
ateness to  be  superior  to  the  free  and  simple 
efforts  of  genius.  By  pouring  glass  into  a  mould, 
you  may  produce  forms  far  more  exact  and  sym- 
metrical in  appearance  than  that  of  the  living 
crystal,  which,  from  the  nucleus  within,  works 
out  its  rough  and  careless  natural  beauty.  By 
the  pruning-knife  and  rigid  training  you  may 
force  the  trees  of  a  plantation  into  shapes  and 
proportions  far  more  exact,  orderly,  obedient  to 
definite  laws  of  form,  than  nature  ever  spon- 
taneously manifests.  But  in  either  case,  who 

15* 


346  THE    SIMPLICITY     OF 

would  hesitate  to  pronounce  the  inexact  and 
seemingly  rude  results  of  life  working  from 
within  to  be  infinitely  more  noble  than  the  most 
elegant  and  methodical  effects  .of  art  imposed 
from  without.  So,  again,  by  dint  of  constant 
training  a  person  of  but  slight  natural  taste  for 
music  may  acquire  a  certain  superficial  facility 
in  musical  performances — a  mechanical  ease, 
rapidity,  and  exactness  far  surpassing  that  of 
uninstructed  natural  genius;  but  the  slightest 
air  sung  with  native  taste  and  feeling — nay,  the 
irregular,  wild,  instinctive  melody  that  wakes  the 
woodland  echoes,  is,  in  its  untaught  simplicity, 
essentially  superior  to  all  the  achievements  of  a 
mere  artificial  discipline. 

Now,  these  analogies  may  elucidate,  in  some 
measure,  the  comparative  worth  of  the  Jewish 
and  Christian  ritual;  for  the  former  partakes 
very  much  of  the  character  of  an  artificial  dis- 
cipline, the  latter  of  a  life  projecting  itself  spon- 
taneously in  outward  forms. 

In  the  infancy  of  nations,  as  of  individuals, 
the  imagination  is  ever  more  active  than  the  in- 
tellect, and  the  impressions  conveyed  through 


CHRISTIAN     RITUAL.  347 

'the  senses  deeper  and  more  abiding  than  those 
which  can  be  produced  by  any  direct  appeal  to 
the  understanding.  The  immature  mind  thinks 
in  images.  Abstract  truth  has  no  hold  upon  it. 
Illustrations  are  more  intelligible  than  arguments. 
To  a  race  such  as  that  for  which  the  institutions 
of  the  Ceremonial  Law  were  prepared,  a  religion 
of  thought — a  spiritual  system  in  which  intel- 
lectual teaching  and  mental  exercise  held  a 
prominent  place — would  have  been  utterly  inap- 
propriate. It  would  have  been  as  much  lost  up- 
on them  as  would  be  the  literature  and  laws  of 
England,  if  attempted  to  be  introduced  whole- 
sale .amongst  savages.  Accordingly,  a  religious 
economy  was  devised,  in  which  truth  was  elabo- 
rately presented  in  a  concrete  form,  and  spiritual 
lessons  were  lodged  in  material  objects  and  ac- 
tions. The  ritual  of  Judaism  was  not  the  spon- 
taneous creation  of  the  religious  thought  and 
feeling  of  the  worshippers.  Altogether  above 
their  inventive  powers,  it  was  contrived  and  ob- 
truded upon  them  in  all  its  completeness  from 
without, — a  ready-made  system  of  religious  syn> 
bols  and  exercises,  to  bring  down  truth  to  babes. 


348  THE     SIMPLICITY    OF 

The  idea  of  God  was  embodied  to  the  senses  in 
a  visible  temple — of  His  holiness  in  an  awful 
shrine  or  sanctuary,  fenced  off  from  curious  gaze 
and  unhallowed  step.  The  notion  of  a  Divine 
Order  pervading  human  life  was  lodged  in  regu- 
lations for  food  and  dress,  distinctions  between 
things  clean  and  unclean,  minute  prescriptions 
and  rules  for  all  the  varied  relations  and  exi- 
gencies of  social  existence.  The  conceptions  of 
sin,  guilt,  penitence,  prayer,  of  atonement,  par- 
don, purity,  self-devotion,  were  forced  on  the 
senses,  and  drilled  into  minds  otherwise  incapa- 
ble of  rising  to  them,  by  laws  of  ceremonial  ex- 
clusion, priests,  costly  sacrifices,  sprinklings,  lus- 
trations— by  the  life's  blood  of  victims  dyeing 
the  altar,  or  borne  by  priestly  hands  into  the 
awful  presence  of  the  Deity — by  the  mysterious 
flight  of  the  sin-burdened  scapegoat  into  a  region 
of  darkness  and  forgetfulness,  from  whence  it 
could  return  no  more.  Without  these  and  other 
manifold  aids  to  thought,  spiritual  ideas,  to  such 
a  race,  would  have  been  unattainable.  But  by 
such  material  devices,  all  life  became,  as  it  were, 
saturated  with  religious  suggestions.  The  Jew 


CHRISTIAN     RITUAL.  349 

could  not  eat  or  drink,  or  dress,  or  sow,  or  reap, 
or  buy,  or  sell,  arrange  his  household,  hold  inter- 
course with  neighbor  or  friend,  perform  any  one 
function  of  individual  or  social  life,  without  be- 
ing met  by  restrictions,  forms,  observances, 
which  forced  religious  impression  upon  him,  and, 
in  combination  with  the  more  solemn  ceremonial 
of  the  temple,  left  a  constant  deposit  of  spiritual 
thought  upon  the  mind,  and  drilled  the  wor- 
shipper into  religious  habits.  The  entire  ritual 
of  Judaism  was,  therefore,  essentially  artificial. 

In  a  more  spiritual  and  reflective  age,  on  the 
other  hand,  in  which  the  spiritual  perceptions 
have  become  developed,  and  the  mind  has  be- 
come receptive  of  direct  religious  instruction, 
such  sensible  helps  to  the  formation  of  thought 
are  no  longer  necessary.  The  mind  in  which 
truth  has  become  an  intuition  needs  no  longer 
to  spell  out  its  convictions  by  the  aid  of  a  pic- 
ture-book. The  avenue  of  spirit  thrown  open 
to  the  worshipper,  he  no  more  requires  to  climb 
slowly  up  to  the  presence-chamber  of  the  king 
by  the  circuitous  route  of  sense.  But  if  ritual 
may  in  such  an  age  be  dispensed  with  in  great 


350  THE     SIMPLICITY     OF 

measure  as  a  means  of  instruction,  it  still  per- 
forms an  important  function  as  a  means  of  ex- 
pression. No  longer  necessary  as  a  mould  for 
the  shaping  of  thought,  it  has  still  its  use  as  a 
form  in  which  religious  thought  and  feeling  may 
find  vent.  If  the  necessity  for  a  visible  temple 
and  sanctuary  to  symbolise  God's  residence  with 
man  has  ceased,  now  that  He  who  is  "the 
brightness  of  the  Father's  glory  and  the  express 
image  of  his  person,"  the  perfect  symbol  of  the 
Divine  has  dwelt  among  us, — if  to  prompt  our 
minds  in  conceiving  of  sin  and  sacrifice,  no 
scenic  show  of  victims  slain  and  life's  blood 
drenching  earthly  altars  be  needed,  now  that 
the  stainless,  sinless,  all-holy  One  hath  once  for 
all  offered  up  the  sacrifice  of  a  perfect  life  to 
God — still  there  is  in  the  Christian  heart  the 
demand  for  outward  forms  and  rites  to  embody 
the  reverence,  the  gratitude,  the  devotion,  the 
love  of  which  it  is  inwardly  conscious.  The 
soul,  in  its  relation  to  an  unseen  Father,  still 
craves  for  some  outer  medium  of  expression  that 
shall  give  form  to  feeling — that  shall  tell  forth 
its  devotion  to  the  heavenly  Friend  as  the  smile, 


CHRISTIAN     RITUAL.  351 

the  look,  the  grasp  of  the  hand,  the  meeting  at 
the  festive  board,  the  gifts  and  tokens  of  affec- 
tion, externalise  and  express  our  sentiments  to- 
wards those  we  love  on  earth. 

But  in  this  case  it  is  obvious  that  no  elaborate 
system  of  prescribed  rites  and  symbols  is  possi- 
ble. The  Very  nobleness  of  the  use  to  which 
ritual  is  devoted  in  the  new  economy,  precludes 
all  but  the  most  general  authoritative  regula- 
tions. In  Judaism  it  was  necessary  that  all 
should  be  prescribed  ;  in  Christianity,  almost 
everything  must  be  left  to  the  discretion  of  the 
Church.  There  the  lawgiver  must  do  every- 
thing ;  here  he  can  do  little  or  nothing.  For 
when  symbols  are  meant  to  teach,  it  were  as  ab- 
surd to  leave  anything  to  be  determined  by  the 
worshipper  as  to  permit  a  child  to  direct  his  own 
education.  But  you  cannot  so  regulate  the  way 
in  which  a  man  shall  express  his  sentiments  and 
feelings.  Nature  and  character  are  spontaneous; 
they  will  not  take  any  form,  utter  themselves 
through  any  exact  and  inflexible  mode  of  ex- 
pression which  may  be  furnished  them  from 
without.  Who  can  love  by  rule,  manifest  sor- 


352  THE     SIMPLICITY     OF 

row  by  stereotyped  gestures,  indicate  gratitude 
or  admiration  by  adopting  looks  and  postures 
authoritatively  prescribed  ?  Try  to  make  a  man 
do  so,  and  instead  of  helping,  you  will  cramp 
and  vitiate  his  feelings,  and  by  the  effort  to 
force  consciousness  into  one  special  mould  or 
shape,  kill  the  life  you  mean  to  cultivate.  In 
attempting  to  work  up  feeling  into  another's 
forms,  a  man  would  end  by  ceasing  to  feel,  or 
by  becoming  a  hypocrite  and  formalist.  The 
reality  of  life  is  manifested  by  nothing  so  much 
as  by  the  endless  variety  of  its  outward  devel- 
opments. Every  herb  of  the  field  has  its  own 
individuality  of  form  ;  every  acorn  enfolds  a  dif- 
ferent oak.  Attempting  to  construct  some  out- 
ward framework  of  uniformity  for  nature,  and 
the  latitudinarian  oaks  and  elms,  the  informal 
lilies  of  the  field  and  fowls  of  the  air,  will 
breathe  forth  their  protest  in  beauty,  and  sound 
it  out  in  song.  And  how  shall  the  nobler  life 
of  the  soul  be  constrained  into  uniformity?  How 
shall  human  spirits,  each  endowed  with  a  sepa- 
rate will  and  an  individual  character,  adopt  one 
measured  routine  of  expression,  without  crush- 


CHRISTIAN     RITUAL.  353 

ing  that  very  nature  whose  life  is  freedom  ? 
The  general  principles  of  religion,  the  essential 
elements  of  Christian  life,  are  indeed  the  same 
in  all  men ;  and  so,  in  outline,  it  is  possible  to 
anticipate  and  regulate  the  forms  in  which  the 
common  life  of  the  Church  shall  find  expression. 
But  all  such  regulations,  it  is  evident,  must  be 
of  the  most  simple  and  general  character — not 
descending  to  the  minutiae  which  the  individual 
genius  of  nations  and  communities  may  effect, 
but  keeping  to  the  broad  platform  of  the  com- 
mon uses  and  needs  of  humanity.  And  the 
conclusion  to  which,  from  this  argument,  we 
are  led  is  obviously  this,  that  the  glory  of  our 
Christian  ritual  lies  in  its  very  simplicity.  For 
the  manifestation  of  our  common  life  in  God,  and 
of  our  common  faith  in  Christ,  the  mind  craves 
some  outward  badge  or  symbol ;  and  so,  in  gra- 
cious condescension  to  our  needs,  our  Lord  has 
instituted  the  two  sacramental  rites ;  but  even 
these  He  has  prescribed  but  in  outline,  leaving 
nil  accessories  to  be  filled  in,  as  the  varied  needs 
of  his  people,  in  different  times  and  places  and 
circumstances,  should  dictate.  The  common 


354  THE     SIMPLICITY     OF 

heart  of  the  Church,  in  all  lands  and  ages,  shall 
ever  crave  a  medium  of  intercourse  with  its 
Lord,  and  so  the  ordinance  of  common  prayer 
has  been  instituted ;  the  universal  and  spon- 
taneous voice  of  the  soul's  gratitude  and  adora- 
tion and  love — as  universal  as  the  emotions 
themselves — is  song ;  and  so,  for  the  outflow  of 
its  devotions,  the  channel  of  common  praise  has 
been  provided.  But  forasmuch  as  not  more 
various  are  the  languages  and  idioms  of  the 
nations  and  races  into  which  the  human  family 
is  divided,  than  the  modes  of  utterance  through 
which  the  spirit  of  humanity  in  different  regions 
and  ages  spontaneously  expresses  itself — foras- 
much as  the  tones  of  the  human  voice  are  not 
more  endlessly  diversified  than  are  inflexions  of 
the  mind  and  heart,  in  giving  vent  to  the  same 
thoughts  and  sentiments — so  our  gracious  Lord, 
in  His  loving  wisdom,  hath  prescribed  no  one 
form  of  speech  or  song,  no  one  inflexible  lan- 
guage of  worship,  for  His  church  on  earth.  And 
in  this  lies  the  very  grandeur  of  its  worship, 
that  in  the  "  chartered  freedom"  of  our  Christian 
ritual,  each  nation  and  community,  each  sepa- 


CHRISTIAN     RITUAL.  355 

rate  society  and  church  and  individual,  lifting  up 
its  own  note  of  adoration,  all  are  found  to  blend 
in  the  one  accordant  anthem,  the  one  manifold 
yet  harmonious  tribute  of  the  Universal  Church's 
praise. 

I  conclude  this  discourse  by  the  remark,  that 
the  simplicity  of  the  Christian  rites  serves  as  a 
safeguard  against  those  obvious  dangers  which 
are  incident  to  all  ritual  worship. 

The  chief  of  these  is  the  tendency  in  the  un~ 
spiritual  mind  to  stop  short  at  the  symbol — in 
other  words,  to  transfer  to  the  visible  sign  feel- 
ings appropriate  only  to  the  things  signified,  or 
to  rest  content  with  the  performance  of  outward 
ceremonial  acts,  apart  from  the  exercise  of  those 
devout  feelings  which  lend  to  such  acts  any  real 
value.  Even  in  our  common  experience  there 
is  a  strong  propensity  in  the  mind  to  invest 
significant  objects  and  acts  with  the  feelings  due 
only  to  the  realities,  material  or  spiritual,  which 
they  represent.  Our  associations  cling  to  the 
visible  symbol  of  what  is  desirable  or  good,  till 
it  becomes  in  itself  more  precious  to  us  than  that 


356  THE     SIMPLICITY     OF 

which  at  first  gave  it  all  its  value.  To  take  the 
most  flagrant  instance — we  know  that  money 
has  no  value,  except  as  the  conventional  repre- 
sentative of  things  which  gratify  our  natural 
desires.  But  money,  desired  and  loved  at  first 
for  the  sake  of  other  things,  intercepts  by  de- 
grees the  attachment  of  which  it  has  been  the 
medium,  and  becomes  an  ultimate  object  of  de- 
sire and  love  in  itself.  The  passion  of  avarice, 
however  demonstrably  irrational,  is  one  against 
which  reason  is  impotent.  By  the  slow  deposit 
of  pleasurable  associations  on  a  false  basis,  it 
consolidates  into  a  principle  of  action  so  potent 
that  the  enjoyments  of  life  are  one  by  one  sacri- 
ficed for  that  which  is  but  their  worthless  repre- 
sentative. If  you  could  dispense,  in  whole  or 
in  part,  with  the  symbol,  the  passion  that  is 
based  upon  it  would  be  no  longer  possible.  If 
society  could  conduct  its  commerce  without  the 
intervention  of  arbitrary  signs  of  value,  no  room 
would  be  left  for  the  foolish  substitution  which 
the  vice  of  avarice  implies.  Realities  alone  would 
be  regarded  as  important;  fictitious  symbols 
would  cease  to  have  any  place  in  our  regard. 


CHRISTIAN     KITUAL.  357 

Now  this  tendency  of  the  mind  operates  still 
more  fatally  in  our  spiritual  experience.  The 
signs  of  spiritual  realities  are  even  more  apt 
than  those  of  temporal  to  arrest  and  absorb  the 
sentiments  due  to  the  things  signified.  A  re- 
ligion in  which  ritual  holds  a  prominent  place  is 
notoriously  liable  to  degenerate  into  formalism. 
The  feelings  of  awe  and  reverence  for  unseen 
and  spiritual  objects,  coming  often  at  the  sug- 
gestive call  of  the  sacred  symbol,  gradually 
transfer  themselves  to  that  with  which  they 
have  been  associated.  The  invisible  good  is 
less  and  less  remembered.  To  the  religious 
miser  the  mere  showy  counters  become  gradu- 
ally all  in  all,  and  he  learns  to  content  himself 
with  the  ring  and  glitter  of  the  worthless  sign, 
to  the  utter  abnegation  of  the  blessings  for  which 
it  stands.  And  this  propensity  acts  with  greater 
force  in  religion,  from  the  fact  that  the  things 
represented  or  symbolised  are  not,  as  in  our 
secular  experience,  in  themselves  palpable  and 
agreeable.  The  pleasures  which  money  repre- 
sents are  mainly  pleasures  cognisable  by  the 
senses,  and  for  which  we  have  strong  natural 


358  THE     SIMPLICITY     OF 

desires.  The  objects  represented  by  religious 
signs,  on  the  other  hand,  are  invisible,  immate- 
rial, requiring  an  effort  of  mind  to  summon  them 
up — an  effort  which  it  is  the  less  disposed  to 
make  that  they  are  also  objects  which,  to  the 
defective  nature  of  man,  are  not  naturally  and 
inherently  attractive.  If,  therefore,  the  in- 
clination of  the  mind  to  drop  the  reality  and 
cling  to  the  representative  be  strong  in  any 
case,  it  must  be  especially  potent  here.  It 
is  easy  to  employ  the  sacramental  sign  of 
purity ;  it  is  far  from  easy  to  bring  the  mind 
and  heart  into  contact  with  the  hallowing  in- 
fluences which  it  represents.  It  costs  no  effort 
to  receive  the  emblems  of  a  dying  Saviour; 
to  multitudes  it  is  an  irksome  task  to  raise  the 
thoughts  and  affections  into  communion  with 
an  unseen  Lord.  To  bend  the  knee  with  ex- 
ternal decorum,  or  to  send  forth  from  the  lip 
mechanical  sounds  and  intonations,  is  an  act 
which  calls  for  scarcely  any  mental  exertion ; 
but  it  demands  the  strenuous  upgathering  of  all 
our  inward  energies  in  order  to  pray  with  the 
spirit,  or  to  offer  up  the  true  inner  melody  of 


CHRISTIAN     RITUAL.  359 

adoring  gratitude  and  love  to  God.  The  worldly 
and  uninspiritual  mind  is  ready  to  avail  itself  of 
any  excuse  for  evading  the  task  of  spiritual 
worship,  and  an  excuse  is  too  readily  accessible 
in  the  decorous  observance  of  its  external  forms. 
The  tendency  of  multitudes  even  in  the  case  of 
the  simplest  ritual, 'and  much  more  where  ritual 
is  obtrusive  and  elaborate,  is  to  make  the  visi- 
bilities of  worship  the  whole  of  it.  The  little 
measure  of  devotion  they  possess  is  expended 
on  the  mere  machinery  through  which  devotion 
acts.  The  spirit's  wing,  too  feeble  to  bear  it  up 
to  the  empyrean  heights  of  holy  faith  and  love, 
flutters  in  the  mere  atmosphere  of  form.  Con- 
science, ill  at  ease  without  some  semblance  of 
religion,  is  cheaply  pacified  by  a  respectful  at- 
tention to  its  material  accompaniments ;  and 
the  more  numerous  and  elaborate  such  accom- 
paniments, the  more  satisfactory  the  bribe.  The 
true  way  to  avoid  this  error  is,  obviously,  to  re- 
move as  much  as  possible  its  cause.  Let  there 
be  no  arbitrary  and  needless  intervention  be- 
tween the  soul  of  the  worshipper  and  the  Divine 
object  of  its  homage.  Let  the  eye  of  faith  gaze 


360  THE     SIMPLICITY     OF 

on  the  Invisible  through  the  simplest  and  purest 
medium.  Deprive  it  of  all  excuse  to  trifle  cu- 
riously with  the  telescope,  instead  of  using  it 
in  order  to  see.  And  forasmuch  as,  to  earth- 
ly worship,  formal  aids  are  indispensable,  let 
it  ever  be  remembered  that  that  form  is  the 
best  which  least  diverts  attention  to  itself,  and 
best  helps  the  soul  to  hold  fellowship  with 
God. 

Moreover,  the  danger  thus  incident  to  an 
elaborate  ceremonial,  of  substituting  ritual  for 
religion,  is  increased  by  the  too  common  ten- 
dency to  mistake  aesthetic  emotion  for  religious 
feeling.  It  is  quite  possible,  apart  from  a  relig- 
ion of  conscience  and  spiritual  conviction,  to  get 
up  a  sensuous  mimicry  of  pious  emotion.  As 
the  outer  form  of  a  book,  its  showy  binding  or 
fair  type,  may  be  admired  by  many  who  have 
neither  intelligence  nor  taste  to  appreciate  its 
contents ;  or,  as  the  fair  and  noble  features  and 
graceful  form  of  man  or  woman  may  be  beheld 
with  delight  by  not  a  few,  who  are  incapable  of 
honoring  the  still  nobler  beauty  of  the  mind 
within — so  there  is  that  in  the  mere  dress  and 


CHRISTIAN     KIT  UAL.  361 

drapery  of  religion,  the  arbitrary  form  and  acci- 
dents of  spirituality,  which  may  elicit  deep 
emotion  from  many  a  mind  that  has  never  felt 
one  throb  of  true  religious  feeling — of  reverence 
or  love  for  the  inner  spirit  and  essence  of  relig- 
ion itself.  Awe,  reverence,  rapt  contemplation, 
the  kindling  of  heart  and  swelling  of  soul, 
which  the  grand  objects  of  faith  are  adapted  to 
excite,  may,  in  a  man  of  sensitive  mind  or  deli- 
cate organisation,  find  a  close  imitation  in  the 
feelings  called  forth  by  a  tasteful  and  splendid 
ceremonial.  Beauty,  it  is  true,  is  not  hostile  to 
goodness ;  on  the  contrary,  the  Beautiful  and 
the  Good,  ever  closely  akin,  blend  ultimately  in 
the  one  glorious  unity  of  the  Divine  nature. 
The  highest  perception  and  keenest  relish  for 
the  Beautiful,  therefore,  is  that  which  is  possible 
only  to  the  pure  and  holy  mind.  Yet  there  is 
a  lower  sensibility  to  Beauty  which  is  attainable 
apart  from  the  moral  condition  of  the  heart,  and 
which  is  often  felt  most  keenly  by  the  most  un- 
spiritual  and  irreligious  of  men.  A  refined 
bodily  organisation,  a  susceptible  nervous  sys- 
tem, a  strongly  emotional  temperament,  es- 

Calrd.  16 


362  THE     SIMPLICITY    OF 

pecially  if  these  be  combined  with  a  mind  of 
some  measure  of  intellectual  culture,  will  render 
a  man  extremely  sensitive  to  the  beauty  of  the 
outer  accompaniments  of  religious  worship.  The 
faculties  which  qualify  their  possessor  for  the 
pleasures  of  taste — which  enable  him  to  take 
delight  in  art  or  nature,  in  poetry  or  painting  or 
music,  in  scenic  effects  or  dramatic  exhibitions 
— are  identical  with  those  which  an  elaborate 
and  poetic  ritual  calls  into  play.  And  there  is, 
therefore,  a  semi-sensuous  delight  in  religious 
worship  imposingly  conducted,  which  may  be 
felt  by  the  least  conscientious  even  more  than 
by  the  sincerely  devout.  The  soul  that  is  de- 
void of  true  reverence  towards  God  may  be  rapt 
into  a  spurious  elation,  while  in  rich  and  solemn 
tones  the  loud-voiced  organ  peals  forth  His 
praise.  The  heart  that  never  felt  one  throb  of 
love  to  Christ  may  thrill  with  an  ecstasy  of 
sentimental  tenderness,  while  soft  voices,  now 
blending,  now  dividing,  in  combined  or  respon- 
sive strains,  celebrate  the  glories  of  redeeming 
love.  And  not  seldom  the  most  sensual  and 
profligate  of  men  have  owned  to  that  strange, 


CHRISTIAN     RITUAL.  363 

undefined,  yet  delicious  feeling  of  awe  and  ele- 
vation that  steals  over  the  spirit  in  some  fair 
adorned  temple  on  which  all  the  resources  of  art 
have  been  lavished — where  soft  light  floods  the 
air,  and  mystic  shadows  play  over  pillar  and 
arch  and  vaulted  roof,  and  the  hushed  and  sol- 
emn stillness  is  broken  only  by  the  voice  of 
prayer  or  praise.  Christian  thought  and  feeling 
may  indeed  appropriate  to  its  own  high  uses 
these  outer  things.  All  that  is  noble  in  taste  and 
beautiful  in  art  it  may  lay  hold  of,  and,  by  the 
inner  transforming  power  of  devotion,  ennoble  and 
spiritualise.  Nay,  Religion,  in  one  sense,  asserts 
its  right  to  all  that  is  beautiful  and  noble  and 
lovely  on  earth,  and  by  its  regal  touch  confers  on 
earthly  things  a  heavenly  dignity.  There  are 
ways  in  which  all  the  treasures  of  genius,  all 
the  creations  of  poetry,  all  the  resources  of  art, 
may  be  made  tributary  to  the  cause  of  Christ. 
Still  it  should  never  be  forgotten  that,  if  largely 
introduced  into  the  act  of  religious  worship,  the 
refinements  of  art  may  become  to  multitudes, 
not  the  means,  but  the  end.  Instead  of  walking 
by  the  light  you  kindle,  many,  gazing  on  the 


364  THE     SIMPLICITY     OF 

beauty  of  the  lamp,  will  stumble  in  the  Chris- 
tian path.  For  one  that  can  take  hold  of  the 
angel's  hand,  there  are  multitudes  who  will  con- 
tent themselves  with  gazing  artistically  on  the 
splendor  of  his  vesture.  It  is  easy  to  admire 
the  sheen  of  the  sapphire  throne,  while  we  leave 
its  glorious  Occupant  unreverenced  and  unrecog- 
nised. Banish  from  the  service  of  God  all 
coarseness  and  rudeness — all  that  would  dis- 
tract by  offending  the  taste  of  the  worshipper, 
just  as  much  as  all  that  would  disturb  by  sub- 
jecting him  to  bodily  discomfort,  and  you  leave 
the  spirit  free  for  its  own  pure  and  glorious  ex- 
ercise. But  too  studiously  adorn  the  sanctuary 
and  its  services ;  obtrude  an  artificial  beauty  on 
the  eye  and  sense  of  the  worshipper,  and  you 
will  surely  lead  to  formalism  and  self-deception. 
The  meretricious  attraction  of  form  may  bring 
numbers,  but  it  will  not  add  true  strength  to 
the  Church.  The  artistic  splendor  of  ritual 
may  kindle  many  hearts  with  emotion,  but  it 
will  be  with  unhallowed  fire.  Better  that  the 
world  should  stay  away  than  join  Christ's 
ranks  on  false  pretences ;  better  that  the  hearts 


CHRISTIAN     RITUAL.  365 

of  men  should  remain  utterly  cold,  than  that, 
warmed  by  spurious  feeling,  they  should  deem 
themselves  inspired  by  a  pure  and  holy 
flame. 


Comjraratibe  Influence  of  Character 
Doctrine 


"  Take  heed  unto  thyself,  and  unto  the  doctrine  ;  continue  in 
them  :  fpr,  in  doing  this,  thou  shalt  both  save  thyself  and 
them  that  hear  thee."  —  1  TIMOTHY,  iv.  16. 

IN  counselling  his  friend  and  fol- 
lower as  to  the  best  method  of  do- 
ing good  in  the  sphere  of  duty  allotted  to  him, 
the  apostle  seems  here  to  lay  the  chief  stress, 
not  on  doctrine  or  teaching,  but  on  life  or  con- 
duct. "  Take  heed,"  is  his  admonition,  not  first 
to  what  you  teach,  and  then  to  what  you  are; 
not  primarily  to  your  verbal  instructions,  and 
then  to  the  spirit  of  your  own  character  and 
life,  but  first  "to  thyself"  and  then  "to  the 
doctrine."  And  the  principle  thus  enunciated 
is,  it  will  be  easy  to  see,  by  no  means  exclu- 
sively applicable  to  ministers,  or  public  teachers 
and  office-bearers  in  the  church.  It  is,  on  the 
contrary,  a  principle  fraught  with  instruction  to 
all,  of  whatever  standing,  whose  duty  it  may  be 


CHARACTER     AND     DOCTRINE.        367 

to  teach,  or  admonish,  or  administer  moral  and 
religious  guidance  to  others — to  every  parent, 
every  Sunday-school  teacher,  nay,  to  every 
Christian  man  who  wishes  to  do  good  by  speak- 
ing a  word  of  serious  import  to  a  brother.  For 
it  is  nothing  less  than  the  broad  principle  that, 
in  order  to  do  good,  the  first  and  great  effort 
must  be  to  be  good, — that  extent  and  accuracy 
of  religious  knowledge,  however  important,  are 
secondary,  as  a  means  of  influence,  to  the  moral 
discipline  and  culture  of  our  own  heart  and  life. 
In  order  to  persuade  others  of  the  truth  as  it  is* 
in  Jesus,  the  primary  qualification,  we  are  here 
taught,  is  to  have  our  own  souls  thoroughly  im- 
bued with  its  power. 

In  asserting,  however,  the  necessity  of  per- 
sonal goodness  in  the  religious  instructor,  it  is 
not  maintained  that  an  irreligious  man  is  ab- 
solutely disqualified  for  speaking  God's  truth, 
or  even  for  so  speaking  it  as  to  do  some  good 
to  others.  Both  reason  and  experience  are 
against  the  notion  that  it  needs  great  personal 
piety  to  be  an  accurate  expositor  of  the  theory 
of  divine  truth,  or  that  none  but  men  of  very 


368   COMPARATIVE  INFLUENCE  OF 

holy  lives  can  be  profound  theologians,  or 
able  preachers.  To  be  versant  in  a  science 
does  not  of  necessity  imply  that  we  must 
be  skilled  in  the  correlative  art.  Theory  and 
practice,  science  and  art,  the  knowledge  of 
principles,  and  the  power  to  apply  them,  are 
attainments  which  depend  on  totally  different 
faculties,  and  which  may  be,  and  in  actual 
experience  very  commonly  are,  dissociated  from 
each  other.  The  able  or  eloquent  writer  on  the 
principles  of  government  would  not  always  make 
the  best  practical  statesman,  or  the  acute  ex- 
pounder of  theories  in  political  economy  the  most 
sagacious  financier.  It  is  possible  to  know  scien- 
tifically the  principles  of  music  without  being 
able  to  sing  a  note, — to  discuss  and  enforce  the 
principles  of  grammar  and  rhetoric,  and  yet  be  a 
feeble  speaker  or  inelegant  writer.  And  the 
same  remark  is  borne  out  in  the  sphere  of  man's 
spiritual  life.  The  facts  and  data  being  given,  a 
man  may  play  with  the  terms  of  theology  as 
with  the  terms  of  algebra.  There  is  nothing  to 
hinder  a  clever  reasoner,  if  he  apply  his  mind  to 
the  subject,  from  working  out  a  doctrine  as  he 


CHARACTER     AND     DOCTRINE.         369 

would  work  out  a  syllogism,  from  putting  a  point 
in  theology  as  happily  as  a  point  in  philosophy 
or  law,  or  from  throwing  the  lights  of  fancy, 
illustration,  eloquence,  around  any  of  the  high 
themes  of  religion  as  vividly  as  the  clever  special 
pleader  around  the  most  secular  argument  or 
appeal.  The  experience  of  mankind  in  all  ages 
has  shown  how  possible  it  is  for  a  man  to  draw 
fine  fancy-pictures  of  the  beauty  of  virtue 
amidst  a  life  that  is  sadly  unfamiliar  with  her 
presence,  to  utter  pathetic  harangues  on  charity 
with  a  heart  of  utter  selfishness,  and  to  declaim 
on  purity  and  self-denial,  whilst  living  in  sloth 
and  luxurious  self-indulgence.  The  truth  of  God 
may  thus  be  studied  as  a  mere  intellectual  exer- 
cise, and  preached  as  a  feat  of  rhetorical  address, 
whilst  yet  the  premises  of  the  preacher's  high 
argument  are  utterly  foreign  to  his  own  godless 
experience.  Like  a  sick  physician,  the  preacher 
may  prescribe,  perhaps  successfully,  to  others  for 
the  disease  of  which  himself  is  dying.  Like  the 
"  sounding  brass  or  tinkling  cymbal,"  he  may 
give  forth  inspiring  and  animating  strains  to  stir 
16* 


370        COMPARATIVE     INFLUENCE     OF 

the  hearts  of  men,  of  which  himself  is  but  the 
unconscious  medium. 

But  whilst  it  is  not  denied  that  sound  religious 
instruction  may  emanate  from  a  teacher  of  little 
personal  piety — that  true  and  holy  words  may 
be  spoken  by  lips  untrue  and  profane,  we  fall 
back  with  not  less  confidence  on  the  assertion, 
that  an  experimental  acquaintance  with  divine 
truth — deep  religious  earnestness,  is  the  first 
and  grand  qualification  in  the  teacher,  incom- 
parably the  most  powerful  means  of  usefulness, 
and  the  surest  pledge  of  success.  Truth  is  in- 
deed in  itself  a  mighty  instrument,  whatsoever 
hand  may  wield  it ;  but  though  its  edge  may  be 
as  keen  and  its  temper  as  fine  in  the  most  un- 
hallowed as  in  the  holiest  hands,  in  the  former 
it  must  often  prove  a  weapon  unwieldy  and  in- 
effective as  the  warrior's  sword  in  the  weakling's 
grasp.  Conveyed  as  correctly  by  human  lips  as 
by  the  pages  of  a  book,  truth  spoken  is  yet  for 
its  influence  by  no  means  as  independent  of  the 
moral  make  and  structure  of  the  living  teacher, 
as  truth  written  of  the  fabric  of  the  printed  page. 
To  be  duly  effective,  truth  must  not  merely  fall 


CHARACTER     AND     DOCTRINE.        371 

from  the  lip,  but  breathe  forth  from  the  life ;  it 
must  come,  not  like  incense  from  the  censor  that 
only  holds  it,  but  like  fragrance,  from  a  flower, 
exhaling  from  a  nature  suffused  with  it  through- 
out. The  doctrines  and  principles  you  teach, 
in  order  to  manifest  their  inherent  efficacy,  must 
be  known  and  reproduced,  not  in  mere  logical 
order  and  system,  like  dried  specimens  of  plants 
in  a  naturalist's  collection,  but  with  the  fresh 
waving  fragrance  of  the  living  plant  or  flower — 
pervaded  by  the  vital  sap,  unfolding  to  the  sun- 
beams, and  fanned  by  the  breezes  of  heaven.  In 
one  word — and  this  is  the  principle  which  I  wish 
now  to  illustrate — the  first  qualification  of  the 
religious  instructor  is,  not  knowledge,  but  piety. 
As  a  means  of  moral  and  religious  influence,  life 
should  precede  doctrine,  character  be  regarded 
as  of  even  greater  importance  than  verbal  teach- 
ing ;  we  should  have  respect  to  the  sequence  of 
the  apostle's  counsels  in  the  text,  "  Take  heed 
unto  thyself  and  unto  the  doctrine." — I  will  ad- 
duce in  the  sequel  one  or  two  considerations  in 
support  of  this  principle. 


372        COMPARATIVE     INFLUENCE     OF 

I.  That  life  is  in  some  respects  of  prior  im- 
portance to  doctrine  may  be  perceived  by  re- 
flecting,— that  life  tends  very  greatly  to  modify  a 
mans  oivn  vieivs  of  doctrine ;  in  other  words, 
that  personal  character  tinges  a  man's  percep- 
tions of  truth.  It  is  a  well-known  law  of  our 
mental  experience  that  the  condition  and  char- 
acter of  the  observing  mind  greatly  modify  the 
knowledge  which  it  receives  from  outward  ob- 
jects. Whether  it  be  things  material  or  moral, 
objects  of  sense  or  objects  of  thought,  in  most 
cases  we  perceive  according  as  we  are.  The  same 
objects  may  be  externally  present  to  a  hundred 
spectators,  and  yet  be  practically  different  to 
each  of  them.  In  surveying  the  outward  world, 
for  instance,  we  "  half  create  and  half  perceive ;" 
and  in  order  to  the  correctness  and  completeness 
of  our  perception  of  its  varied  phenomena,  it  is 
necessary,  not  merely  that  they  be  externally 
presented  to  us,  but  that  we  should  "  take  heed 
to  ourselves,"  that  our  powers  of  perception  be 
in  unimpaired,  healthy,  vigorous  action.  Every 
one  knows,  for  example,  that  the  varied  colors 
wherewith  the  face  of  the  visible  earth  seems  to 


CHARACTER  AND  DOCTRINE.    373 

be  clothed,  exist  not  literally  in  the  objects 
themselves,  but  owe  their  splendor  to  the  eye 
that  surveys  them.  It  is  only  the  unknown  or 
occult  causes  of  color  that  exist  in  nature  ;  color 
itself  is  in  the  organism  and  mind  of  the  observer; 
and  through  physical  disease  or  organic  defect 
our  perceptions  of  color  may  be  marred  or  de- 
stroyed. The  jaundiced  eye  blanches  nature. 
The  peculiar  phenomena  of  color-blindness  shows 
that  to  many  an  eye  the  garniture  of  beauty  which 
bespreads  the  green  earth  is  lost ;  and  without 
any  change  on  the  face  of  nature,  you  have  only 
to  suppose,  in  any  case,  the  organ  of  vision  to 
undergo  some  strange  affection,  and  instantly 
the  whole  aspect  of  the  visible  world  would  be 
changed ;  the  splendor  would  vanish  from  the 
grass  and  the  glory  from  the  flower,  the  purple 
from  the  mountain  and  the  azure  from  the  cloud, 
and  all  nature  present  to  the  spectator  but  one 
sombre  and  unvaried  expanse  of  black  or  grey. 
Or  if  we  pass  from  the  mere  organism  through 
which  man's  spirit  converses  with  the  outward 
world  to  that  spirit  itself,  still  more  obvious  il- 
lustration have  we  of  the  principle  before  us. 


374:     COMPARATIVE     INFLUENCE     OF 

It  is  the  state  of  the  inner  eye,  the  condition  of 
that  spirit  within  us  which  looks  out  on  nature 
through  the  loopholes  of  sense,  that  makes  the 
world's  aspect  to  be  to  us  what  it  is.  It  is  the 
same  world  which  is  beheld  by  the  man  of  deep 
thoughtfulness  and  sensibility,  and  by  the  dull 
observer  in  whom  the  sense  of  beauty  has  never 
been  evoked,  and  yet  how  different  that  world 
to  each  !  The  former,  gifted  with  a  spirit  in 
profound  sympathy  with  nature,  and  disciplined 
into  exquisite  sensibility  to  her  loveliness,  dis- 
cerns and  responds  to  her  hidden  meaning ;  sees 
behind  the  outer  forms  of  meadow,  wood,  and 
mountain,  a  presence  to  which  his  own  spirit 
thrills,  and  catches,  with  instinctive  intelligence, 
as  the  child  the  smile  or  frown  on  the  mother's 
face,  the  import  of  each  expression  on  her  ever- 
varying  countenance ;  whilst  the  latter,  blind  to 
every  "  remoter  charm  or  interest  unborrowed 
from  the  eye,"  beholds  in  the  same  scenes  nothing 
more  than  a  particular  disposition  of  earth  and 
wood  and  water,  which  calls  forth  scarcely  any 
emotion  in  his  mind.  And  though  there  may  be 
much  of  this  deeper  insight  into  nature  which 


CHARACTER     AND     DOCTRINE.        375 

is  to  be  ascribed  to  an  original  and  instinctive 
sensibility,  yet  it  is  only  by  long  and  careful 
training,  by  profound  study  and  self-discipline, 
that  this  poetic  instinct  is  developed  and  ma- 
tured. It  is  only,  in  other  words,  by  "  taking 
heed  to  himself,"  that  the  observer  can  attain  to 
the  true  knowledge  of  nature,  and  the  deepest 
appreciation  of  her  beauty. 

Now  the  same  law  obtains  in  that  higher 
province  to  which  the  text  relates.  As  our  per- 
ceptions of  beauty,  so  our  perceptions  of  moral 
and  spiritual  truth  are  modified  by  the  inner 
spirit  and  character  of  the  percipient.  Self  con- 
ditions doctrine.  A  man's  own  moral  state  is 
very  much  the  measure  of  his  moral  convictions. 
The  highest  spiritual  truths  lie  beyond  the  range 
of  a  soul  that  is  not  in  harmony  with  them,  and 
the  glimmerings  of  truth  which  a  defective  na- 
ture gains,  take  their  complexion  from  its  moral 
tone  and  spirit.  As  the  loveliest  scene  on  which 
the  eye  of  man  can  rest,  contains  no  revelation 
of  beauty  to  the  insensitive  and  unreflecting  ob- 
server, so  the  Bible  is  no  revelation  of  truth  to 
the  unspiritual  mind.  The  glorious  discoveries 


376  COMPAEATIVE  INFLUENCE  OF 

of  divine  things  on  the  page  of  inspiration  are 
lost  to  the  soul  in  which  the  moral  sense,  the 
vision  and  faculty  divine,  is  dull  or  dormant. 
God  is  but  a  name  to  the  mind  in  which  no  di- 
vine instinct,  no  godly  sympathies  and  aspira- 
tions, have  begun  to  stir.  There  can  be  no  true 
faith  in  the  Incarnation,  however  logically  accu- 
rate your  notions  of  the  person  of  Christ,  until 
by  the  intuition  of  a  holy  and  heavenly  heart, 
you  feel  Him  to  be  divine.  The  sacrifice  of  the 
Cross,  with  all  the  love  and  tenderness  and  self- 
abnegation,  the  sorrow  and  anguish,  yet  joy 
deeper  still  than  sorrow,  that  breathes  around  it, 
is  no  mere  barren  fact  or  intellectual  dogma,  of 
which  historic  proof  or  logical  demonstration 
can  convince  us.  For  the  true  apprehension  of 
this  there  is  an  essential  inaptitude  in  the  sel- 
fish and  unloving  spirit;  it  can  be  discerned 
only  by  the  soul  in  which,  however  faintly,  yet 
in  reality,  the  pure,  loving,  self-devoted  spirit  of 
Jesus  has  begun  to  dwell. 

Moreover,  in  farther  illustration  of  the  thought 
that  self  modifies  doctrine,  consider  how  notori- 
ously our  opinion  in  secular  matters  are  affected 


CHARACTER     AND     DOCTRINE.        377 

by  our  prejudices  and  passions.  Who  of  us, 
where  personal  interest  is  at  stake,  can  trust 
with  unerring  certainty  to  the  conclusions  of 
his  own  judgment  ?  Experience  proves  that 
agreeable  falsehoods  are  at  least  as  likely  to 
be  believed  as  disagreeable  truths.  The  wish 
is  often  father  to  the  thought ;  and  where  any- 
thing is  to  be  gained  or  lost  by  our  opinions, 
the  winning  side  has  almost  invariably  the  ma- 
jority of  adherents.  With  unconscious  partial- 
ity, the  attention  is  withdrawn  from  the  objec- 
tions, and  fixed  with  all  its  power  of  application 
on  the  arguments  in  favor  of  the  foregone 
conclusion  :  or,  on  the  other  hand,  in  the  con- 
templation of  some  obnoxious  truth,  the  focus 
of  observation  is  instinctively  shifted  ;  proofs 
are  underrated  or  ignored,  whilst  every  grain 
of  counter-evidence  is  magnified  into  impor- 
tance ;  and  with  such  unconscious,  yet  most 
damaging  defectiveness  in  the  mechanism  of 
judgment,  the  desired,  however  erroneous,  re- 
sult is  easily  arrived  at.  How  generally, 
again,  does  party-spirit,  education,  early  or 
hereditary  associations,  bias  the  beliefs  of  men ! 


378   COMPARATIVE  INFLUENCE  OF 

Assail  some  old  and  time-hallowed  notion,  some 
revered  fiction,  which  has  struck  deep  its  roots 
into  the  soil  of  the  uncultivated  mind,  and 
around  which  a  thousand  early  and  tender  asso- 
ciations have  gathered,  and  your  most  formid- 
able arguments  will  fail  to  shake  it.  Endeavor 
to  introduce  new  opinions,  uncongenial  to  educa- 
tional or  class  convictions,  and  often  all  the  force 
of  truth  will  in  vain  be  exerted  to  obtain  for 
them  a  place  in  the  rugged  and  reluctant  mind. 
Thus  even  on  the  lower  ground  of  secular  truth 
it  needs,  in  the  formation  of  opinion,  the  rarest 
candor  and  self-watchfulness  to  conduct  the  pro- 
cess aright.  But  this  discipline  is  still  more  in- 
dispensable to  the  religious  inquirer.  For  there 
are  no  interests  so  tremendous  as  those  which 
are  involved  in  our  religious  beliefs.  In  no 
other  province  of  inquiry  are  deeper  passions 
stirred,  or  prejudices,  associations,  habits,  more 
numerous  and  inveterate,  called  into  play.  The 
very  fundamental  and  primary  truths  of  religion, 
the  Being  of  God,  the  Existence  of  a  Moral 
Order  and  a  righteous  Retribution,  the  doctrines 
of  Sin,  Pardon,  Salvation. — all  involve  in  their 


CHARACTER     AND     DOCTRINE.         379 

reception  or  rejection  results  bearing  with  over- 
whelming influence  on  the  present  and  future 
interests  of  the  inquirer, — all  rouse  into  intense 
activity  hopes,  fears,  appetites,  desires,  wishes, 
anxieties,  which  it  is  almost  impossible  in  our 
investigations  to  set  aside,  in  order  that  judg- 
ment may  have  scope  for  calm  and  undisturbed 
action.  How  urgent,  then,  the  necessity  for 
jealous  candor  and  self-control  in  the  study  of 
divine  truth.  As  the  observer  of  the  pheno- 
mena of  the  material  heavens  takes  pains  to  per- 
fect the  instrument  with  which  he  works,  aware 
that  the  slightest  flaw  in  the  speculum  may 
vitiate  his  observations ;  so  ought  the  contem- 
plator  of  that  nobler  orbed  world  of  truth  take 
heed  that  the  disc  of  the  inner  mechanism  of 
conscience  be  polished  from  all  distorting  preju- 
dice or  soil  of  selfish  passion.  As  the  chemist 
seeks  to  render  his  balances  exquisitely  sensi- 
tive, and  carefully  eliminates  from  his  results 
all  variations  of  temperature  or  other  disturbing 
elements ;  so  should  the  student  of  divine  things 
strive  by  God's  grace  to  attain  the  acuteness  and 
delicacy  of  a  judgment  freed  from  all  deflecting 


380      COMPAKATIVE     INFLUENCE     OF 

influences,  and  poised  with  an  exquisite  nicety 
of  discrimination  on  which  not  the  slightest  grain 
of  truth  is  lost.  He  should  cultivate,  in  one 
word,  by  the  discipline  of  a  holy  life,  a  truer 
than  philosophic  calmess  and  candor — the  calm- 
ness of  a  spirit  that  dwells  in  habitual  com- 
munion with  God,  the  candor  of  a  mind  that  has 
nothing  to  lose,  and  every  thing  to  gain,  by 
truth. 

II.  In  further  illustration  of  the  principle  that 
Life  or  Character  comes,  in  order  of  importance, 
before  "  Doctrine,"  it  is  to  be  considered  that 
Life  or  Character  affects  not  only  a  man's  own 
views  of  truth,  but  also  his  power  of  expressing 
or  communicating  truth  to  others.  For  if,  from 
any  cause,  the  organ  of  spiritual  perception  be 
impaired  or  undeveloped  in  a  man's  mind,  of 
course  he  can  communicate  to  others  no  clearer 
views  than  he  himself  has  received.  The  stream 
can  rise  no  higher  than  its  source.  The  medium 
lends  its  own  defects  to  the  light  which  passes 
through  it.  Transmitted  through  you,  truth  will 
reach  other  minds  in  the  same  scanty  measure 


CHARACTER     AND     DOCTRINE.        381 

in  which  it  has  entered  your  own ;  it  will  be- 
come, in  the  process  of  transmission,  colored, 
dimmed,  distorted  by  the  defectiveness  of  the 
intervening  nature. 

It  is  true,  indeed,  as  has  been  already  said, 
that  we  may  teach  truth  mechanically  and  by 
hearsay.  It  is  possible  for  a  man  to  talk  above 
himself,  and  to  convey  to  others  correct  formulas 
of  truths  that  are  foreign  to  his  own  experience. 
However  weak,  faulty,  untruthful,  in  his  own 
character,  there  is  nothing  to  hinder  a  man  from 
talking  as  wise  and  good  as  a  book.  If  a 
worldly-minded  parent  can  read,  as  easily  may 
he  speak,  sage  and  solemn  lessons  to  his  chil- 
dren. An  undevout  preacher  may  have  no  dif- 
ficulty in  getting  up  the  stereotyped  phraseology 
of  a  religious  sect  or  school,  and  pouring  it  forth 
as  glibly  as  if  it  were  the  natural  outflow  of  his 
own  convictions  and  feelings.  Nay,  in  so  far  as 
the  mere  intellectual  and  rhetorical  part  of  the 
process  is  concerned,  it  is  possible  that  the  un- 
spiritual  man  may  preach  or  teach  better  than 
the  more  devout.  For  the  intellectual  vigor 
which,  irrespective  of  personal  character,  would 


382   COMPARATIVE  INFLUENCE  OF 

make  a  man  an  able  reasoner  or  talker  on  poli- 
tics, or  science,  or  philosophy,  does  not  desert 
him  when  he  turns  to  theology.  To  compare 
and  generalise  facts,  to  evolve  principles  and 
laws,  to  follow  out  a  chain  of  logical  deduction, 
to  trace  out  the  connection  and  sequence  of 
ideas,  and  lucidly  to  express  or  eloquently  to 
enforce  the  results  of  thought,  are  operations 
for  which  there  is  at  least  equal  scope  in  things 
spiritual  as  in  things  secular,  and  the  talent  for 
which,  therefore,  may  be  as  strikingly  manifested 
by  the  worst  as  by  the  best  and  holiest  of 
mankind. 

But  however  this  may  be,  there  is  that  in  a 
defective  or  sinful  life  which  will  vitiate  the 
ablest  and  most  eloquent  teaching.  For  besides 
the  consideration  that  men  will  be  little  dis- 
posed to  listen  to  arguments  which  have  not 
been  cogent  enough  to  reform  and  regulate  the 
life  of  him  who  employs  them,  it  must  be  re- 
membered that  the  teaching  which  has  not  its 
root  in  personal  experience,  will  lack  a  certain 
undefinable  yet  most  potent  element,  which 
lends  to  words  their  true  effectiveness.  To 


CHARACTER    AND    DOCTRINE.          383 

exert  real  power  over  men's  minds  and  hearts, 
what  you  speak  must  be  not  only  true,  but  true 
to  you.  For  the  conveyance  of  thought  and 
feeling  from  mind  to  mind  is  not  a  process 
which  depends  on  mere  verbal  accuracy.  Lan- 
guage is  not  the  only  medium  through  which 
moral  convictions  and  impressions  are  trans- 
mitted from  speaker  to  hearer.  There  is  an- 
other and  more  subtle  mode  of  communication,  a 
mysterious  moral  contagion,  by  means  of  which, 
irrespective  of  the  mere  intellectual  apparatus 
employed,  the  instructor's  beliefs  and  emotions 
are  passed  over  into  the  minds  of  his  auditory. 
Strong  conviction  has  a  force  of  persuasion  irre- 
spective of  the  mere  oral  instrument  by  which 
it  works.  Through  the  rudest  forms  of  speech 
originality  and  earnestness  make  themselves 
felt,  and  a  sentence  of  simple  earnest  talk  will 
sometimes  thrill  the  heart  which  the  most  re- 
fined and  labored  rhetoric  would  leave  un- 
touched. But  in  order  to  the  evolving  of  this 
element  in  the  process  of  instruction,  obviously 
the  teacher's  own  religious  nature  must  be  pen- 
etrated and  quickened  by  the  truth  he  utters. 


384       COMPARATIVE    INFLUENCE     OF 

The  magnetic  force  must  saturate  his  own  spirit 
ere  it  flow  out  to  others  in  contact  with  him. 
No  stereotyped  orthodoxy,  no  simulated  fervors, 
however  close  and  clever  the  imitation,  will 
achieve  the  magic  effects  of  reality.  The 
preacher  may  reproduce  verbatim  the  language 
of  the  wise  and  good,  copy  to  the  letter  the 
phraseology  in  which  religious  thought  and  feel- 
ing have  been  often  couched,  but  so  long  as 
they  are  but  the  echo  of  other  men's  experience, 
and  not  the  expression  of  his  own,  the  pro- 
foundest  truths  will  fall  ineffectively  from  his 
lips.  There  will  be  an  unnaturalness  and  un- 
reality in  the  very  tone  and  manner  in  which  he 
utters  them.  The  words  that  once,  spoken  by 
true  and  living  men,  had  life  and  power  in 
them,  spoken  by  him  will  be  spiritless,  lifeless, 
vapid.  The  rod  is  not  in  the  magician's  hand, 
and  it  will  not  conjure.  In  other  great  arts, 
there  is,  we  know,  a  strange  power  which  genius 
and  originality  confer  on  their  possessor,  and 
which  no  mere  intellectual  discipline  can  com- 
municate. The  poet  is  born,  not  made ;  and  by 
no  literary  culture,  however  elaborate,  can  the 


CHARACTER    AND    DOCTRINE.          385 

man  of  mere  cleverness,  closely  as  he  may  echo 
the  poet's  style  and  manner,  gain  that  nameless 
power  to  move  and  thrill  and  captivate  the 
hearts  of  men — that  secret  charm  of  thoughts 
that  breathe,  and  words  that  burn,  which  we 
recognise  in  him  on  whom  the  true  poetic  spirit 
rests.  So  in  that  far  higher  region  of  thought 
and  feeling  with  which  the  preacher  of  divine 
truth  is  conversant,  there  is  a  power  of  reality, 
an  influence  over  men's  minds  and  hearts,  pos- 
sessed by  the  man  on  whom  a  nobler  and  loftier 
than  the  inspiration  of  genius  rests,  and  whose 
own  soul  is  in  daily  communion  with  the  heav- 
ens, which  no  mere  intellectual  discipline  can 
emulate.  Bring  your  own  spirit  to  the  fount 
of  inspiration,  live  in  habitual  communion  with 
the  infinite  Truth  and  Life,  and  the  words  you 
speak  to  men,  whether  rude  or  refined,  will  pos- 
sess a  charm,  a  force,  a  power  to  touch  their 
hearts  and  mould  their  secret  souls,  which  no 
words  of  eloquent  conventionality  can  ever  at- 
tain. There  will  be  an  intuitive  recognition  of 
the  divine  fire  which  has  touched  your  lips. 
Other  teachers  may  be  more  able,  learned,  ac- 


386       COMPARATIVE    INFLUENCE    OF 

complished.  In  apter  words,  and  with  more  of 
the  logician's  or  the  orator's  art,  may  they  dis- 
course of  things  divine  ;  but  to  them  there  will 
be  something  lacking  still.  The  shape  and 
semblance  and  color  of  truth  they  may  display, 
but  it  will  be  as  a  waxen  imitation  of  the  lilies 
of  the  field ;  the  divine  aroma  will  not  be  there. 
The  movement  and  play  of  vital  thought  and 
feeling  they  may  contrive  to  simulate,  but  it 
will  be  but  a  mimicry  after  all — the  galvanising 
of  dead  thought,  not  the  free  and  spontaneous 
power  and  grace  of  living  truth. 

III.  The  only  other  consideration  I  shall  ad- 
duce in  support  of  the  principle  involved  in  the 
text  is — that  Life  or  Character  has  in  many  re- 
spects  an  influence  which  direct  Teaching  or  Doc- 
trine cannot  exert. 

Actions,  in  many  ways,  teach  better  than 
words,  and  even  the  most  persuasive  oral  in- 
struction is  greatly  vivified  when  supplemented 
by  the  silent  teaching  of  the  life. 

Consider,  for  one  thing,  that  actions  are  more 
intelligible  than  words.  All  verbal  teaching  par- 


CHARACTER     AND     DOCTRINE.        387 

takes  more  or  less  of  the  necessary  vagueness  of 
language,  and  its  intelligibility  is  dependent,  in 
a  great  measure,  on  the  degree  of  intellectual 
culture  and  ability  in  the  mind  of  the  hearer. 
Ideas,  reflections,  deductions,  distinctions,  when 
presented  in  words,  are  liable  to  misapprehen- 
sion ;  their  power  is  often  modified  or  lost  by 
the  obscurity  of  the  medium  through  which  they 
are  conveyed,  and  the  impression  produced  by 
them  is  apt  very  speedily  to  vanish  from  the 
mind.  Many  minds  are  inaccessible  to  any  for- 
mal teaching  that  is  not  of  the  most  elementary 
character ;  and  there  are  comparatively  few  to 
whom  an  illustration  is  not  more  intelligible  than 
an  argument. 

But  whatever  the  difficulty  of  understanding 
words,  deeds  are  almost  always  intelligible.  Let 
a  man  not  merely  speak  but  act  the  truth ;  let  him 
reveal  his  soul  in  the  inarticulate  speech  of  an 
earnest,  pure,  and  truthful  life,  and  this  will  be  a 
language  which  the  profound  est  must  admire, 
while  the  simplest  can  appreciate.  The  most 
elaborate  discourse  on  sanctification  will  prove 
tame  and  ineffective  in  comparison  with  the 


388       COMPAEATIVE    INFLUENCE    OF 

eloquence  of  a  humble,  holy  walk  with  God. 
In  the  spectacle  of  a  penitent  soul  pouring 
forth  the  broken  utterance  of  its  contrition  at 
the  Saviour's  feet,  there  is  a  nobler  sermon  on 
repentance  than  eloquent  lips  ever  spoke. 
Instruct  your  children  in  the  knowledge  of 
God's  great  love  and  mercy,  but  let  them  see 
that  love,  cheering,  animating,  hallowing  your 
daily  life  ;  describe  to  them  the  divinity  and 
glory  of  the  Saviour's  person  and  work,  but  let 
them  note  how  daily  you  think  of  Him,  hear 
with  what  profoundest  reverence  you  name  His 
name,  see  how  the  sense  of  a  divine  presence 
sheds  a  reflected  moral  beauty  around  your 
own — and  this  will  be  a  living  and  breathing 
theology  to  them,  without  which  formal  teach- 
ing will  avail  but  little.  Sermons  and  speeches 
too,  may  weary ;  they  may  be  listened  to  with 
irksomeness,  and  remembered  with  effort :  but 
living  speech  never  tires ;  it  makes  no  formal 
demand  on  the  attention,  it  goes  forth  in  feel- 
ings and  emanations  that  win  their  way  insen- 
sibly into  the  secret  depths  of  the  soul.  The 
medium  of  verbal  instruction,  moreover,  is  con- 


CHARACTER     AND     DOCTRINE.        389 

ventional,  and  it  can  be  understood  only  where 
one  special  form  of  speech  is  vernacular,  but  the 
language  of  action  and  life  is  instinctive  and 
universal.  The  living  epistle  needs  no  transla- 
tion to  be  understood  in  every  country  and 
clime;  a  noble  act  of  heroism  or  self-sacrifice 
speaks  to  the  common  heart  of  humanity;  a 
humble,  gentle,  holy,  Christlike  life  preaches 
to  the  common  ear  all  the  world  over.  There 
is  no  speech  nor  language  in  which  this  voice  is 
not  heard,  and  its  words  go  forth  to  the  world's 
end. 

Consider,  again,  that  the  language  of  the  life 
is  more  convincing  than  the  language  of  the  lip. 
It  is  not  ideal  or  theoretical,  it  is  real  and  prac- 
tical ;  and  whilst  theories  and  doctrines  may  be 
disputed,  and  only  involve  the  learner  in  inex- 
tricable confusion,  a  single  unmistakable  fact,  if 
you  can  appeal  to  it,  cuts  the  knot,  and  sets  dis- 
cussion at  rest.  There  is,  for  instance,  a  secret 
feeling  amongst  many  who  listen  to  an  earnest 
and  high-toned  style  of  instruction,  that  much 
of  what  they  hear,  however  fine  and  elevated, 
and  proper  to  be  spoken  in  the  pulpit,  is  far  too 


390   COMPARATIVE  INFLUENCE  OF 

seraphic  to  be  reduced  to  practice  amidst  the 
plain  and  prosaic  business  of  life.  Exhortations 
to  communion  with  God,  to  spirituality,  heavenly- 
mindedness,  superiority  to  the  world,  its  vanities 
and  temptations — how  often,  for  any  practical 
purpose,  do  these  fall  powerless  on  men's  ears. 
To  a  plain  man  of  the  world,  steeped  in  its  vul- 
gar cares,  struggling  with  its  gross  and  familiar 
difficulties  and  trials,  the  delineations  of  the 
pulpit  seem  not  seldom  as  if  they  belonged  to  a 
region  of  pietistic  romance,  a  sort  of  spiritual 
dream-land,  in  which  ministers  and  writers 
little  acquainted  with  the  world  permit  their 
pious  imagination  to  revel.  The  theory  is  a 
fine  one,  they  admit,  but  constituted  as  poor 
human  nature  is,  there  is  this  inseparable  objec- 
tion to  it,  that  it  will  not  ivorJc. 

But  in  this,  as  in  many  other  cases,  experi- 
ment will  be  the  test  of  truth.  Men  may  dis- 
pute your  theory  of  agriculture,  and  explanation 
or  discussion  might  only  serve  to  confirm  them 
in  their  error;  but  show  then},  rugged  though 
be  the  soil  and  ungenial  the  climate,  your  fair 
and  abundant  crops,  and  objection  is  silenced. 


CHARACTER     AND     DOCTRINE.         391 

Your  system  of  education  may  be  controverted 
or  contemned  as  impracticable,  but  point  to  the 
undeniable  results  of  your  system  in  the  intelli- 
gence, worth,  high  principle  of  those  who,  year 
after  year,  issue  from  your  schools,  and  this  ar- 
gument will  be  unanswerable.  The  invaluable 
scientific  discovery  or  project  may  be  met  by  a 
thousand  objections  when  first  announced,  but 
when  it  has  bridged  the  ocean,  or  spread  its 
network  of  intercommunication  over  the  land, 
the  most  sceptical  are  forced  to  own  their  error. 
So,  in  the  case  before  us,  the  ideal  of  the  Chris- 
tian life,  with  all  its  moral  elevation  and  superi- 
ority, to  common  motives  and  principles,  may 
seem  to  many  at  best  but  a  beautiful  and  pious 
fancy,  too  delicate  and  fine-spun  for  the  rough 
uses  of  life ;  but  apply  to  it  the  test  of  experi- 
ment— reduce  the  ideal  to  the  actual — show  in 
positive  experience  that  it  is  possible  to  bring 
the  loftiest  spiritual  motives  into  contact  with 
the  lowliest  duties, — and  your  conception  of  a 
religious  life  will  be  proved  beyond  dispute. 
Let  not  worldly  selfishness  take  refuge  in  scep- 
ticism as  to  the  possibility  of  a  life  sq  pure,  sp 


392        COMPARATIVE     INFLUENCE     OF 

high-toned,  so  self-denied.  Show  that  such  a 
life  is  not  only  desirable  but  practicable — not 
merely  that  it  ought  to  be,  but  that  it  can  be. 
Live  down  doubt.  Let  men  feel,  as  they  be- 
hold your  earnest,  sincere,  unselfish  life,  that 
God,  and  truth,  and  duty,  and  Christ,  and  im- 
mortality, are  not  the  mere  themes  of  a  preach- 
er's discourse,  the  topics  of  a  Sunday  meditation, 
but  the  real  and  practical  principles  and  mo- 
tives of  man's  working  life.  So  doing  you  will 
silence  the  gainsayer,  and  the  spurious  sagacity 
of  the  worldly-minded  will  be  completely  at  fault. 
Consider,  finally,  that  the  teaching  of  the  life 
is  available  in  many  cases  in  which  the  teaching  of 
the  lip  cannot,  or  ought  not,  to  be  attempted. 
There  are  many  conceivable  circumstances  in 
which  a  man  is  disqualified  from  doing  good  to 
others  by  direct  instruction  or  advice.  Many, 
for  instance,  are  incapable  of  expressing  their 
sentiments  clearly  and  forcibly  in  words,  or  are 
unwilling  to  peril  questions  so  momentous  as 
those  of  religion  on  their  own  feeble  advocacy. 
Many,  again,  are  unable  to  overcome  a  certain 
instinctive  reserve  on  religious  topics,  a  painful 


CHARACTER     AND     DOCTRINE.         893 

shrinking  from  the  introduction  in  their  inter- 
course with  others  of  matters  so  awful  and 
sacred ;  and  though  this  is  a  disposition  which 
may  easily  be  indulged  till  it  has  become  a  false 
delicacy,  a  reprehensible  remissness  or  selfish 
timidity,  yet  it  cannot  be  denied  that  it  is  often 
the  deepest  natures  that  are  the  calmest  and 
quietest,  and  the  profoundest  emotions  of  the 
heart  that  shrink  most  from  outward  expression. 
It  is  true  that  "  out  of  the  fulness  of  the  heart 
the  mouth  speaketh ;"  but  it  is  not  less  true 
that  there  are  sometimes  things  we  love  and 
reverence  so  much  that  we  cannot  bear  to  speak 
of  them.  And  even  where  no  such  disqualifica- 
tions exist  on  the  side  of  the  instructor,  there 
may  be  that  in  the  temper  of  the  objects  of  his 
religious  zeal,  which  would  be  repelled  rather 
than  benefited  by  formal  admonition,  or  that  in 
their  position  relatively  to  him  which  would 
render  the  attitude  of  the  instructor  or  adviser 
presumptuous  and  unbecoming.  There  are  few 
who  can  take  in  good  part  ghostly  counsel  or 
personal  reproof.  The  utterer  of  unwelcome 
truth  is  not  always  discriminated  from  the  slan- 


394        COMPAEATIVE     INFLUENCE     OF 

derer  who  delights  in  it.  The  bearer  of  bad 
news  becomes  associated  in  our  dislike  with  the 
message  he  brings ;  and  our  pride  is  wounded 
all  the  more  by  his  strictures  if  the  position  of 
the  censor  lends  no  authority  to  his  counsels,  or 
positively  detracts  from  their  force. 

But  in  all  cases  in  which  formal  instruction  or 
advice  is  precluded,  how  invaluable  that  other 
mode  of  access  to  the  minds  of  men  on  which  we 
are  now  insisting — the  silent,  unobtrusive,  inof- 
fensive, yet  most  potent  and  persuasive  teaching 
of  the  life.  The  counsel  you  may  not  speak  you 
may  yet  embody  in  action.  To  the  faults  and 
sins  you  cannot  notice  in  words,  you  may  hold 
up  the  mirror  of  a  life  bright  with  purity  and 
goodness  and  grace.  The  mind  which  no  force 
of  rebuke  could  drive  from  sin,  may  yet  be  in- 
sensibly drawn  from  it  by  the  attractive  power 
of  holiness  ever  acting  in  its  presence.  So  that 
"  they  who  obey  not  the  word,  may  without 
the  word  be  won  by  your  chaste  conversation 
coupled  with  fear/' 

Is  it,  for  instance,  gross  and  degrading  vice 
which  it  pains  you  to  witness  in  another's  life  ? 


CHARACTER     AND     DOCTRINE.        395 

Then  evade  not,  through  false  delicacy,  the  duty 
of  firm  and  earnest  remonstrance.  But  if  re- 
monstrance be  impossible,  there  is  another  and 
often  more  potent  mode  of  expostulation ;  for 
there  are  times  when  the  very  look  of  purity  is 
the  keenest  of  all  reproofs.  Even  from  the  ma- 
jestic serenity  of  material  nature  there  are  mo- 
ments when  the  perturbed  and  polluted  spirit 
will  avert  its  troubled  glance ;  and  the  bright, 
happy  innocent  countenance  of  a  little  child,  or 
its  air  of  reverential  awe  and  simplicity  as  it 
falters  out  its  evening  prayer  at  a  mother's  knee, 
has  conveyed  to  the  guilty  heart  a  more  over- 
whelming rebuke  than  human  tongue  could  utter. 
Or  is  it  wayward  harshness  or  sullenness  of 
temper  that  is  the  prominent  defect  in  one  who 
is  dear  to  you  ?  Who  knows  not  that  words 
of  reproof,  however  gently  administered,  would 
often  but  add  fuel  to  the  fire  of  such  a  spirit  ? 
But  there  is  another  and  more  excellent  way  of 
admonition,  which  will  seldom,  if  ever,  fail.  Re- 
buke by  love,  remonstrate  by  gentleness,  preach 
self-restraint  by  living  it.  Exhibit  the  soften- 
ing power  of  Christ's  grace — not  by  talking  about 


396     COMPARATIVE     INFLUENCE     OF 

it,  but  by  acting  in  habitual  subjection  to  it ;  by 
your  sweet,  gentle,  Christ-like  temper  and  bear- 
ing, by  your  return  of  kindness  for  harshness,  by 
your  calm  forbearance  and  unruffled  serenity 
amidst  sore  provocations  and  wrongs  :  and  often- 
times you  will  find  that  the  spirit  whose  false 
pride  direct  remonstrance  would  only  serve  to 
rouse,  will  own  unconsciously  the  all-subduing 
power  of  love. 

Or  is  it  not  so  much  special  faults  and  sins, 
as  a  general  indifference  to  religion,  which  it 
grieves  you  to  witness  in  the  character  and  con- 
duct of  a  friend  ?  Then,  in  this  case  too,  if  rea- 
soning or  remonstrance  be  possible,  let  not  the 
painfulness  of  the  task  tempt  you  to  cowardly 
silence.  A  brother's  life  is  at  stake,  a  brother's 
step  is  trembling  on  the  awful  brink,  and  will 
you  not,  for  his  truer  good,  brave  his  transient 
displeasure  ?  There  are  times  when  tenderness 
is  more  cruel  than  harshness — reserve  more 
criminal  than  savage  barbarity ;  and  surely  of 
all  such  occasions  this  is  the  one  on  which  most 
of  all  a  true  friend  should  feel  himself  impelled 
to  throw  false  shame  aside,  and  manfully  to  speak 


CHARACTER  AND  DOCTRINE.    397 

out.  But  here,  too,  where  words  may  not  be 
spoken,  or  if  spoken,  would  be  uttered  in  vain, 
another  resource  is  open  to  you  : — preach  by  the 
life.  Let  your  daily  life  be  an  unuttered  yet 
perpetual  pleading  with  man  for  God.  Let  men 
feel,  in  contact  with  you,  the  grandeur  of  that 
religion  to  whose  claims  they  will  not  listen,  and 
the  glory  of  .that  Saviour  whose  name  you  may 
not  name.  Let  the  sacredness  of  God's  slighted 
law  be  proclaimed  by  your  uniform  sacrifice  of 
inclination  to  duty,  by  your  repression  of  every 
unkind  word,  your  scorn  of  every  undue  or  base 
advantage,  your  stern  and  uncompromising  re- 
sistance to  the  temptations  of  appetite  and  sense. 
Preach  the  preciousness  of  time  by  your  hus- 
banding of  its  rapid  hours,  and  your  crowding 
of  its  days  with  duties.  Though  Eternity  with 
its  fast-approaching  realities  be  a  forbidden  topic 
to  the  ear,  constrain  the  unwilling  mind  to  think 
of  it  by  the  spectacle  of  a  life  ordered  with  per- 
petual reference  to  hopes  and  destinies  beyond 
the  grave.  Though  no  warning  against  an  un- 
spiritual,  no  exhortation  to  a  holy  life,  might  be 
tolerated,  let  your  own  pure,  earnest,  unworldly 


398        CHARACTER     AND     DOCTRINE. 

character  and  bearing  be  to  the  careless  soul  a 
perpetual  atmosphere  of  spirituality  haunting 
and  hovering  round  it.  And,  be  assured,  the 
moral  influence  of  such  a  life  cannot  be  lost. 
Like  the  seed  which  the  wind  wafts  into  hidden 
glades  and  forest  depths,  where  no  sower's  hand 
could  reach  to  scatter  it,  the  subtle  germ  of 
Christ's  truth  will  be  borne  on  the  secret  atmos- 
phere of  a  holy  life,  into  hearts  which  no 
preacher's  voice  could  penetrate.  Where  the 
tongue  of  men  and  of  angels  would  fail,  there  is 
an  eloquence  in  living  goodness  which  will  often 
prove  persuasive.  For  it  is  an  inoffensive,  un- 
pretending, unobtrusive  eloquence ;  it  is  the 
eloquence  of  the  soft  sunshine  when  it  expands 
the  close-shut  leaves  and  blossoms — a  rude  hand 
would  but  tear  and  crush  them. ;  it  is  the  elo- 
quence of  the  summer  heat  when  it  basks  upon 
the  thick-ribbed  ice — blows  would  but  break  it ; 
but  beneath  that  softest,  gentlest,  yet  most  po- 
tent influence,  the  hard  impenetrable  masses 
rnelt  away. 

THE     END. 


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